Interest
by peerme
Summary: There are several ways in leading a life. There are several ways in ending a life. Sharon Holmes, daughter of Mycroft Holmes, has always known that some day, she will be dragged into her father's business. But she did not have the slightest idea whose strong arm would pull her out of her boring life into some, where life itself was something different, a game without rules.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone!**

**Now, I'm finally back.**

**This is now my second story and I hope you will like it.**

**You'll read my version of the story of Mycroft Holmes' daughter Sharon, whose name I have taken from ****Mike Maurus****' and ****Ulrich Bader****'s young adult's book series. All her character features and the personal environment she's located into is all mine. And of course the great script in which my story is based belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat of the BBC Sherlock series. **

**I had taken me a long time to come up with a decent script for that story and I am still not finished yet. So if you, my dear readers, have any suggestions and want to contribute to this story, please feel free to do it!**

**I am always happy to read what you're thinking!**

**Please enjoy reading the first chapter and please review! Give me some important feedback to work on! **

**With love, Olivia**

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YOU AWAIT ME

_**FEBRUARY**_

I was relieved as I softly knocked with my knuckles onto my desk to applaud the Professor as he sent us off into our well-earned weekend, so I stuffed all my books into my leather bag and stood up. Finally.

I was actually getting bored to hell.

Every day, every single second I spent here, I fought myself not quitting that ridiculous business instantly. In fact, an academic title doesn't count anything anymore nowadays and the elite of society is just a bunch of snobbish, materialistic, cocky and treacherous criminals.

Weren't those Professors here obliged to teach their students something new, something useful to make them increase their knowledge? That those hard working students would therefore being someday bestowed with an academic title that would grant them membership to the elite of society?

Pardon me, but I already knew that people weren't supposed to get their hands dirty by tricking our law system by having dirty dealings with the criminal vermin that lurked in the underground! If dirty deals were everything our ministry had to cope with...

In fact, no one really knew what was going on behind the scenes, no one really did, not even those people involved.

I let myself jostle and shove around in chattering crowd and finally managed to leave the stuffy lecture hall. As if it were stuffy, don't get me wrong, but how the hell had all those deadheads ever begun to spin in some of those lectures? Every kindergarten-child could attend them and it would make no difference in their 'effectiveness'. I bet one day even the Professor will fall asleep himself.

The real life looked so much different and there was no time to think of paragraphs, precedents and the vintage case law.

I mean, would you stand there, a robber pointing his gun at you, his finger trembling on the trigger, a mere second away from pulling it and blowing your head off, and tell him for God's sake not to do it because he will 'regret' this? His punishment, if our grand police was ever able to catch the criminal, perhaps consisted of being on remand and condemned for armed robbery, would be as dead sure as a tsunami rolling over Europe. Sure, it would be very threatening if you tell a robber that people would lodge an action against him if he killed you.

I've never known a victim, being dead and buried, actually accusing his murderer. Well, perhaps except from him using a death horn, but that would take it for granted that he'd been buried alive.

So what the heck did we expect would save us from evil?

Right is just a pipe dream. Laws are just idle talk. Rules are just stale jokes.

That's all I've learned in my years at University. How sad it was that I knew that even all those poor enthusiastic colleagues of mine would have to realize that someday as well. But they were all still awfully filled with good faith and I nevertheless didn't want to be the one destroying their prospects and hopes.

They all strove for the final realization of the 'right and good' and longed for being the ones who would bring stability and evenness to the scales of justice. But one of those scale pans got heavier and heavier every day and it wasn't the one which would grant us all eternal piece.

I know, I may sound a little like a pessimistic nihilist, but I just got to know the neutral and matter-of-fact perspective, which obviously seemed to be the one showing us reality, not even truth, but just what everyone had to face if the worst came to the worst.

I took the steps down to the entrance hall, left the University and to no surprise, a car (I do not ever bother to call that thing limousine) was already waiting for me to pick me up and get me home safely, even if the way was just a little one. But _safely_, don't make me laugh! I would rather have taken just the bus to get home like every other student-girl and no one would have recognised me being a daughter of obviously someone being very rich and very important.

But God save me, all those members of my elite University were offspring's of very rich and very important families, so maybe it would have been odd not getting picked up by your own private chauffeur.

And if all those things didn't get on my nerves already, I hated being picked up by that strange woman who worked for my dad and destined it to her personal challenge to babysit me, as if she had to cherish me like life itself.

My weekend, or whatsoever, couldn't start worse by that woman being the first familiar face around me outside the University.

I hated her and didn't even know her real name, although she did a really good work for my father. But once she told me to call her Anthea, but I knew that was just one out of her average-working-name repertoire. That's why I sometimes just simply called her Miss X.

I knew she would never tell me who she was, because the only one she could somehow confide in and give away information to was her principal, my father. She was just brownnosing him all the time. But I was sure if someone other would just bribe her decently she would give away all information she had about my father and my whole family just within a mere blink of an eye. Well, that looks like going home, doesn't it?

My family wasn't that big anyway. It constituted of my father, Mycroft Holmes and my modest self, Sharon. Most of the household had members of employees and bodyguards. Mother was killed a long time ago. Father didn't even mourn her anymore and I even somehow was happy about that. Now being twenty one, I didn't want to mourn a mother any longer whom I haven't ever really got to know, because that would make me even more sad and I would lament her loss forever. I guess my father wouldn't have become such a glutton for work if my mum still were there, holding up that sense of togetherness that usually belonged to a family.

But still, I could not deny that I missed my mother very much.

"Hurry up, Miss Holmes!"

Anthea opened the back door for me and shooed me into the limousine. I took a seat and put my bag onto my lap, grabbing it hard and looked out of the window to watch all those ancient walls of the University pass by. I would bless the final day that I would spend inside them and was thankful that that day was getting closer and closer already.

I've never considered myself being that smart, but it must be some gene in our family, that we were quite skilled in all processes of thought. I was no mastermind like my other relatives, but I was quick in acquiring and memorising information. That's why it would take me just four years to finish all the different kinds of my studies and I was even close to be one of the most successful students ever receiving a doctor's degree at such a young age. But to be totally honest, what the hell should I've been doing otherwise in that life that I used to live? With no fun, no friends, nothing worth living except science. studying and as I was doomed to, politics. Not the official kind of politics though, thanks to my blessed father.

Miss X was just sitting next to me, typing hastily into her smartphone, buried into whatever she had to do. Perhaps she just messaged my dad that she successfully picked me up. Her company was so unnerving.

Although I've been looking forward to finally leave the University-jailhouse after that long day of studying, I would just enter the next one. Home wasn't even home. Home was where I could be for myself and just my thoughts. And that was definitely not where this woman always tracked me to.

I sighed heavily and Anthea didn't even blink an eye at my point trying to catch her attention. Well, perhaps I somehow did it in vain anyway, as she never spoke about something really important or concerning my life with me. If she spoke to me at all, respectively.

"Will father be home for dinner as well?", I asked, while I didn't even bother to look at her.

"No."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

Which was, by the way, her fancy synonym for _'I can't tell you'_.

"Is he at Diogenes?"

"Maybe."

I finally looked at her in a most annoyed way, but she only had eyes for that blinking display. Those weren't surprisingly short answers given by her. Even still too short for her kind of woman. Or was she just pulling out the one role she played when she dealt with everything my father ordered her to? Well, I definitely preferred that quiet, controlled and taciturn assistant much more than a talkative nag, anyway. She'd already managed to make me never ever in hell caring about her and her private life at all.

"Did my dear father bother to leave a message for me? I wasn't able to see, call and even message him for five days already.", I said and somehow had to resist that strong urge to snatch that damn phone out of her long, perfectly manicured fingers.

"Mr. Holmes is very busy lately."

"Oh please, get more creative with your prefabricated weasel-words."

She gave the phone an amused smirk.

"There's important business with Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock?", I asked and felt my pulse rise. Somehow I was on pins and needles now. It was surprising that Anthea told me with whom my father was having business with. Did it contain some hidden message or something? Or maybe she knew how intensively it would get me to think about what the hell my father and Sherlock could have some business about, which would keep me quiet for the time we needed to head back home.

Well, if she intended to do so, her plan worked out.

Father being involved with his younger brother never meant something good.

I've never liked Sherlock a lot. But that was only natural of you considered his behaviour towards me, towards any human being. If even that could be called behaviour.

I know I should not prejudge him that badly, or at least not simply label him as abnormal freak, but he'd set it out to be on my list of _'people-without-whom-I-could-lead-nice-life-jus-as-much, thank-you'_.

It's not like I really wanted to cross him out of my life, but I just cared for him as much about as I did for Miss X.

I've just met Sherlock a few times in my life, but those meetings had been enough for being totally repelled and rejected from him. I could have admired him, for sure. He was a mastermind, one of the best examples for being blessed with the outstanding power of deduction, but also with a great deal of penetrant heartlessness.

I would have tried to sympathise with him if he hadn't ignored me thoroughly.

I would have even called him my uncle if he didn't keep pretending to not knowing my name, not knowing who I was. He loved to completely deny my existence, it seemed. He once even accused my father of having an affair with a girl less half his age as he'd seen me and my father having dinner at a noble restaurant.

I was so hurt by him. He'd never been interested in Mycroft's affairs after all those bad things that happened between them and therefore he was not interested in my father's life, in which I naturally played one of the most important parts. That's what a daughter at least should do.

But even that didn't seem to be like one would anticipate.

I guess my father was lucky that he had so much money that enabled him to send me off to something boring whenever he wanted to. Give the girl some money and that will compensate for all what I've been lacking to give her at all in her whole life.

Whatever it meant to have a caring father or to have a happy family, I didn't know that at all.

I even did not ever have much friends. My father always preferred to rise up an invisible wall around me that would shield me from everything evil in this world. The bad thing was that it did work in shielding me from everything.

Friends? If you mean those people you are attending school with, or colleagues that you meet at University, the most boring places of the world and have a boring small-talk about your boring lives? Yeah, I got lots of them.

But about those, whom you meet in the afternoon for a drink, a nice chat, who take you out to short trips at weekends, who go out and party with you until dawn, who hold back your hair of you urgently have to empty your stomach, whom you tell every single secret that is buried within your heart, whom you can really confide in?

Total negative report.

I've never had lots of them, nor had I experienced such intense friendships. My best friend would have been my diary, if I had one of course.

I was quite a maverick, but I think even with all those precautions of my dad, I wouldn't have changed that situation if I were able to do it. I think my education and upbringing contributed to my decision anyway. I chose my friends carefully and I'm afraid I chose them too carefully.

The truth was, that way I may never have been able to find real good friends at all.

Getting friends was just a mess.

I mean, even Robinson Crusoe was able to make a very good friend even on his lonely isle, so why the heck wasn't I able to have at least a single one? Maybe I should really start worshipping some crocodiles or go on exile were no one would understand my talking.

Suddenly a very unfamiliar noise let me almost bolt from my seat. My god, I heard my smartphone ring so rarely, that it almost gave me the creeps to hear that harsh ringtone. I really had to change it to a softer one.

_Hey! Thanks a lot for the scripts! Saved my life! XXX Sally_

I huffed and put my phone aside. That was the next way of how friendship was realized for me. People only contacted and called me if they needed me to do anything for them. Like helping them in any ways out of the dead ends regarding their studies that they usually and regularly found themselves trapped in.

I abominated their impertinent making convenience of myself, but I knew the only one to stop it could be me, which would on the other hand mean to break up every social contact that was remaining for me.

The screensaver of my smartphone made me think once more about my weird and somehow lonesome life. I'd chosen Echo and Narcissus by Waterhouse. I knew that must have been quite weird, but I always imagined myself being a total narcissistic person, who, out of fear but also ignorance and self-pride, rejected all people around herself. Only because I was afraid of doing something wrong and feared of only encountering people who wanted to take advantage of their acquaintance with me.

I guess someday the only company that would remain for me was my own mirror image.

Perhaps I would even reject those whom I loved and who loved me. And I knew that was true as I even scared away those colleagues at University who went after becoming my friends and whose number was alarmingly decreasing.

One exception was Sally who wrote me a message the tenth time that day. She was a very lively and sometimes quite hyperactive girl, very sensitive though, and letting her personal life, feelings and daily worried influence her studies very much. She was not able to blank things out and just focus on what she had to do. Sally was hardly paying attention in classes and lectures, as she always had something on her mind that unsettled her that much that you could call her a downright day-dreamer.

Sally Barnicot, excuse my language, really needed a good and well-aimed kick in the butt to make her wake up and go on with her life. She was a law's and politics' student, just as I was, but my schedule was far more filled than hers.

I also had studies in economics, science, history and sometimes even had some courses in psychology. My father wanted me to cover all important fields of studies that would contribute for my proper education to be able to get a good job like he did. My father always pretended to be no one really important, but he was actually the one holding up the British government. He always pretended to me that he just held a simple position where the ministry passed the basic findings of their negotiations to, on which he should give a professional opinion and recommend further actions. That seemed to be pretty important enough, but I knew my father had his fingers in several political affairs and was the most important man for the British government. Actually, as my beloved uncle Sherlock who used to say, that my father was the British government.

To serve my father's utters satisfaction, I had to come up to his expectations he held and had to accept every fancy task he used to give me annoyingly hard time with. I knew he even already had something upon his sleeve for my upcoming last year at University. He sometimes even suggested taking courses in Informatics, Statistics, Physics and even Mathematics.

I must still have looked quite deep in thought as Miss Anthea shook me to get out of the car as we'd finally arrived at Pall Mall.

Now as I entered the house, those walls that didn't even somehow accommodate warmth that welcomed me home, I was eager to reach the privacy of my room as quickly as possible.

I was in no mood for anything fancy, because I somehow felt that I had to prepare for what was still laying ahead. Something which would definitely go beyond any effort like that which I had to raise up to ram innumerable pieces of information into my head.

I knew that something about my miserable life had to change.

No matter, who or what would changed it, it definitely had to happen.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again!**

**Here's the next chapter. Hope you'll like it.**

**It would really be nice of you if all of you would take some time to leave a comment and tell me what you think. Reviews really help in coming up with nice story twists.**

**If there's anything you would love to contribute, please do not hesitate!**

**Enjoy!**

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YOU FIND ME

_**MARCH**_

Have I ever mentioned my thinking that something in my life would change?

Well, weeks have passed and nothing had happened so far.

My life was as thrilling as sitting in front of a dying glacier and watching it melt.

Even concentrating on my studies didn't give me full satisfaction, as I was dead tired of stuffing my head full of useless knowledge that no one would ever need in real life.

Real life was vibrant, evolving and changing every second and all that nevertheless admirable and worthy knowledge was for nothing. But dear Lord, how many times had I already engaged myself in heated debates about the usefulness of studying that hard!

I had at least tried to change my life a bit.

Father urged me to do some physical exercises, as I gradually developed to be a couch potato and bookworm, but I had nothing against that, as long as everybody left me alone with the way I lived. I wasn't quite the sportive person but I had always been lithe and lissom, as my father had a big influence on me and passed his recent passion for diets on me. After all, I was quite content with the way I looked, but physical exercises, please!

At least it wasn't like running a marathon or something, but Mycroft insisted that I at least learned how to handle a gun and got well versed in self-defence. He thought that the evil lay in ambush around every corner, ready to fetch me away from him and drag me to hell. Well, he was right with his fears, as in his position, he could easily be a victim of having to ransom his daughter or being blackmailed.

But he was used to it. It had become part of his life as it was to get up every morning and brush his teeth.

At least, if every single of his precautions should fail, his faithful servant Anthea would always stick to my every step like a limpet. But I was happy that Anthea herself was as much as content that I made my way mostly alone. I knew that the least thing she wanted to do was babysit an already twenty-one year old student. We both knew that I was neither an average student, nor an exceptionally talented mastermind like my kinsmen, but I was smart.

Smart enough to decipher that my dad thought he could fool me. All he wanted was keeping me away from his business as long as he could, but he wanted to equip me with every skill, wide knowledge and shrewd kind of cleverness that I needed to make my way and defend myself if it was needed. And as far as I remembered, I've never disappointed him in achieving every single ability he considered being necessary.

The bad thing about all that was, that he did not even ask me whether I wanted that or not. He did not care about my dreams, my plans, my real skills and interests. As sad as it was, I hadn't ever had any time in my whole life to find out what my real heart's desire had been.

Would I be a great artist? Perhaps. A great singer? Never really tried. A sportswoman keeping a world record? Only seems to be a stupid imagination.

Well, at least I knew that I was no mastermind.

Life was a mess.

Life had to change.

"Hey! Are you day-dreaming?"

Sally snapped her fingers in front of my eyes and brought me back to earth. I grumbled and rubbed the back of my head. This time she beat me.

Sadly, I would now no longer be able to complain about her inattention and slumberousness that she used to display whenever I was with her. And yes, I did still help her with her studies. Like the inveterate yes-person that I couldn't stop to be.

"Sorry, Sally, I somehow blanked out a while ago. What did you say?"

We sat at the campus and waited for our next lecture to start. It was one of the last courses for this year that was starting now and I was happy, that in the next months, I would be able finish this year of studies quite easily. I've never had problems with studying, grades or anything. Although I sometimes hit top marks, I believed myself to be just a student below average, as for my lack of social skills and experience of life, with which I meant even that 'wisdom' that some could have at my age.

Perhaps I should really get closer to Sally and let myself even experience a relationship that started to be something like a friendship.

I started to smirk. No changes without taking the first step.

"It was not very important anyway.", Sally said, visibly annoyed and grabbed the sample essay that I wrote for her and stuffed it into her bag, "I just thought you might want to visit a nice party next weekend. Pietro is celebrating, as he was hired to do some work for the Hickman Gallery next autumn."

I looked at her, startled for the first time since I had ever spoken to her. How long has it been that someone invited me for a party! Thought of the devil, as if the good fairy was suddenly eager to satisfy my every wish! I really had to seize that opportunity with both hands!

"But isn't he still just a student?"

Sally's expression got a little more sour, but she quickly shook her head.

"There's not only you who can already have a lot of success during her studying time, Sharon."

"I'm not having that assistant position yet, Sally! But sorry, wasn't quite thinking that through. I'm still a little absent with my thoughts."

"So, you're coming?"

"Yeah, sure.", I said simply and smiled just a little, to hide how much I was delighted to receive that invitation. Sally frowned as she looked at me and put some loose strands of her blond hair behind her ear, while she snorted shortly and made her way to the lecture hall.

"You really should stop studying that hard and go out sometimes. If you breathe some fresh air, you'll be happier and perhaps a little more sociable."

I rolled my eyes and quickly followed her to where other students were already roaming and somehow reluctantly and on the other hand eagerly entering the holy halls of science and scholarship.

As we came closer to the entrance, a man suddenly strode in front of us and held the door open, to let Sally and me enter the room. And if I say a man, I mean a man, not an average student. And he was someone I've never seen before. Perhaps one of that innumerable assistants of my law's professor, who tended to change them daily like his pants, which he did change daily, hopefully.

"Ladies first.", he said with a very smooth voice and gave us both a charming smile.

Sally answered him with one of her most beautiful and radiant smiles with which she surely managed to even enchant the most stiff and old-fashioned professors who still thought that there was no place for women inside any kinds of University at all.

As much as she tried to enchant anyone she encountered, I distanced myself from them. In the usual way, I would just give him a quick nod and scurry away to my seat, instantly burying myself into my books. I did lead some conversations with others, surely, but sometimes was just desperately trying to keep a conversations alive, when I ran dry of anything which I could say.

That day had to be different, I even felt it deep inside my bones that something had to change. So I forced myself to keep my head up high and look him straight into the eye while I just managed to simper.

He was stunningly handsome. Handsome in no way of all those models with their faked dark and mischievous bedroom eyes, but handsome in a way that captured my attention as a whole.

Because most important were the eyes that weren't faking anything at all. Those eyes were the darkest eyes that I've ever seen, as if one intriguing glance of him could make you delve into it and entirely get lost in that fathomless darkness. His smile grew even wider and his eyes enlightened a little to a light brown and displayed content pleasure. I looked away, bit my lips to somehow keeping myself from blushing and hurried to catch up with Sally, who already had taken a seat.

I grumbled. Sally always took a seat at the back. I used to sit in the first or second row, although I always had the feeling that everyone behind me kept staring in to particularly my back.

I gladly let myself sink into the chair and let my bag fall down to my feet. Suddenly, I just wanted to get over with this day. Changes didn't have to happen that fast did they? I anyway had still to be concerned of how I should make it clear to my dad that I wanted to go to a party next week. He must be thinking that the whole world had changed, if I encountered him with that news. Perhaps he would rather send me to a psychologist rather than to that party.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"

I looked to the seat at my left as that man from before stood in front of us and bestowed us with another of that intriguing smiles of his.

"No."

"Yes!"

Both Sally and I looked at each other and she looked at me as if she wanted to stab me in an instant. She immediately stretched her arm out to make him finally sit down.

I immediately shifted my weight into Sally's direction as best as I could and it almost looked that I just barely sat on the edge of my seat. Somehow that man seemed to not belong here. Something about his smile and gaze made me feel uncomfortable. Or was it just perhaps I'd decided to really begin to notice people around me? Because if I did, I would not be able to deny that his smile was indeed very much intriguing.

I saw from the corner of my eyes that his smile didn't wear off, even as I constantly started to stare at a chewing gum that stuck to the seat in front of me instead of paying him attention.

"Hello."

His voice was soft. He offered me his hand to shake it, but Sally leaned forward and reached out earlier, grabbed it to shake it long and well, as if she was already testing out his whole body and mind by the contact of their skin and fingers. I swear I wasn't imagining that, I could tell by her eyelashes' fluttering and her slightly tensing of her tiny body that she found him interesting too.

I changed my position and leaned back to escape any body contact at all. Today, everything was definitely too much for me.

"My name's Jim. Nice to meet you."

"I am Sally and this is Sharon."

Jim nodded with another smile. I asked myself if he could plaster another expression onto his face, just for me? I would even be pleased with an angry one, because something would perhaps have caused that displayed anger and him turning away from me and not noticing me for the remaining lesson.

I was still quite startled. I know, it was no strange encounter, even in almost daily lectures I always got to know new people and I even used to talk to them nonchalantly, but this guy looked creepy.

He was not old, it would be bold to say that, but he seemed to be old for a student. He had to be around his mid-thirties or something! So what the heck did he do here in the auditorium? Studying like us? Quite late to start, but what would be even worse would be if he was here since he was finished with school. I do not really want to prejudge people, but do people not think that it would be better for anyone to study in a determined way and not about fifteen years? What would be the advantage of such studies? Perhaps he was just a freeloader who never really cared to study or to work and clung to his parent's fortune.

"I didn't think that so many people actually attend this boring course.", he mumbled and let his gaze wander through the lecture hall.

I dared to watch him a little closer, as he was not returning my curious and gaze at that moment. He was dressed casually, but all his clothes were top brands, even seemed to be hardly worn. He acted a bit like a shy teenager, but I felt that his behaviour was well considered and even the pieces of his casual clothing style were properly selected. His hair was just dark mess and reminded me a bit of a tousle-head which invited any girl to let her fingers run through it.

"Why are you here then?", I asked and immediately regretted it, as my voice displayed a little too much of my discomfort and any annoyance and Sally elbowed me into my ribs.

Jim's head immediately turned back to me and I saw that his grin had slightly frozen. His eyes glistened and no matter how hard I tried, I was not able to read any reaction in his looks that he gave me. He changed from the charming man into an unreadable stranger.

"I had to see where the most intelligent of all Britons actually learn their trade. But here are just ordinary people too. Disappointing.", he said slowly, breathed deep and seemed to be as annoyed as I had been.

Sally laughed shyly at his comment, but my curiosity was piqued and I definitely reckoned his Irish accent. What was he here for, then?

"How would you explain ordinary?", Sally asked, while Jim sighed heavily and clicked his tongue as he beheld the entering professor, who definitely was a member of the elder generation.

"Well, those are people who are simply - ", he began and suddenly he made a disgusted grimace and then looked at me sharply, with an amused glint in his eyes, " - not me."

I raised an eyebrow at his comment and could not refrain from smirking.

"So you are not of the common kind, are you?", I asked with little huffs accompanying my little question, as I really had to hold back my laughter.

"Some people would say that. But that's how you define standards, Sharon. Why shouldn't the standard be higher than ordinary? Why shouldn't it be exceptionally ordinary at least?"

"Wouldn't in it still be ordinary, even more ordinary than before?", I asked and was slowly even more curious about what that guy really wanted to talk about, but at the other hand repelled by what nonsense he was babbling.

Nevertheless, it now seemed to be his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"You still don't get it, right?", he whispered now, as the Professor started to give his lecture about the history of space law. Jim leaned in closer to me and I stiffened as I felt his breath brush my earlobes.

A nervous "What?" escaped my lips before I could stop it and I knew that stranger beneath me would delight in my nervousness that he suddenly caused inside me and which I was not able to hide.

"Don't you see that everyone is even more exceptionally ordinary than anyone else who is trying to not be ordinary? Ordinary get's a complete different definition from that point of view."

"Is it that what you want to express? You think that by trying to not be ordinary, by following trends to being exceptional, you even become more ordinary than before. Those people who do that are always ordinary, while other people who stay as they are, do not change themselves, are even more outstanding?"

Jim let himself fall back and folded his hands. His smile had returned and he nodded slightly.

"What would you tell me if I asked you how that would be reflected?", he asked me, lifted his folded hands and covered his lips with his fingertips.

"Exceptional people hide, do not make any fuss, work in the background and are waiting. In appearing even more normal than everyone they are waiting for their special day to come when they can trump anyone who is thought to be special.", I guessed and even felt the insides of my hands getting sweaty as I felt a chill running down my spine. I liked to be that captured within a conversation so very similar to a riddle.

"Very good again! But the sad thing is, that you do not observe, obviously. Because if you did, you would have already known the answer to the first question that you asked me."

Jim's voice was challenging as if he wanted to tease me. But to be completely honest, I was just bewildered. All what we said was complete nonsense, but somehow I knew that it wasn't for the conversation alone that I was so very much discombobulated.

I could not make any heads or tails of the whole thing.

"Don't you tell me that you are only here to appear ordinary while hiding your true self. That's just ridiculous.", I said, suddenly so very much unsettled.

"That's yours to observe and decide. To tell the truth, I am here to see behind the curtains of that University. I consider to begin here next autumn."

"This autumn?"

"Yes, perhaps we'll see each other again when I'll finally enter this building officially."

"It can even be sooner than that, you know.", Sally suddenly interfered and grabbed my arm in excitement. "My best friend's giving a party next week. It's just a student's party, nothing special, but you can make new acquaintances there. We both go there too. You want to come?"

"Sally-!", I protested, but I immediately fell silent. After all, it wasn't my decision whom she invited and I didn't want to appear impolite again. Both Sally and I were peering at Jim, who was returning our intense gaze with wide eyes.

"Yeah sure, would love to,", he stuttered and his broad smile returned to his lips, "you're right, it would be a perfect opportunity to make new friendships. And even deepen slightly older ones."

To be honest, that strange look that he gave me then, was not charming at all.

It gave me shivers.

It seemed that Jim had exactly attained what he had wanted.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! ;)**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again!**

**This is actually a longer chapter, this time. I hope you'll like it.**

**I hope the story will move in progress soon and you'll like the upcoming chapters, so that they will encourage you to review and tell me what you think :)**

**Have a nice time reading,**

**Olivia**

* * *

YOU TEST ME

_**MARCH**_

I leaned back in my seat and continued drawing little matchstick men onto my script, while I tried to let the babbling of the Professor decrease into just a faint background noise. I peeked at my wristwatch and sighed disappointedly.

"Bored?"

I smiled as Jim's voice was just softly brushing my ears, which were quite tormented by that professor's flogging a dead horse and just talking completely useless rubbish. I bowed my head slightly into his direction, but at that moment he grabbed my pencil and drew a strange sequence of letters onto my script.

"A riddle again?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"What about sleeping with eyes wide open?", I suggested.

"No option in here. The chairs are far too uncomfortable.", Jim sniggered.

"Those old geezers are considered being genii, but are just walking lexica and have no keen sense and feeling for how to transmit information.", I grumbled and began to transcribe those runes that Jim had written down for me. I was glad that I knew that sort of alphabet, though someone could say that this was general knowledge.

I really hated losing, especially to someone like Jim who always seemed to be able to predict any information that all the professors we're giving to us next. Jim appeared to already know everything that those scholars did, but he even did sometimes even mumble something that I could only understand as correction of whatever the professor's affirmed and presented their theories about. The most disturbing thing on that was, that Jim's falsifications always seemed so very plausible to me.

So the biggest question was to me, where the hack did he get that knowledge from? Has he already finished so many different studies and was just continuing to broaden his mind?

Jim told me that he had been visiting some other lectures and some lectures and courses of every different scientific faculty that he was interested in.

How the heck was someone supposed to be able to follow so many different topics? Well, I was one example for that, as much as my father wanted me to attend. But Jim really had to have a tenacious memory and widespread interest. Or he was simply able to secede the only useful information from the whole bunch in the most skilful way.

"You mean the professors? So all professors are old, stale and witless?", Jim whispered and snickered as I was giving away all my tries to decipher the words that he had written down.

"It seems to be so. I've always loved to be taught by family members of Ötzi the Iceman.", I mumbled and huffed as I wrote down the missing letters.

"Well, you _are_ a member of the Iceman's family.", Jim mumbled, but I only had looks for the game that I was lucky to win and didn't really listen to him.

"_Dynamics of an Asteroid_?", I read out what his runes-riddle had been providing for me.

"An awfully clever book, you really should have a look at it.", Jim said and was already scribbling some other signs onto the paper, which turned out to be in pigpen cipher. Finally something thing that was half-way decently challenging me.

"You really have no better ideas than asking me riddles. There's no other thing you do."

"I've always been, from the very beginning. But will you solve all of them?", Jim challenged

"In my humble opinion I see myself doing quite well..."

"Then go on, impress me!", Jim demanded and leaned back and I swirled the pen around between my fingers. "Solve the biggest riddle! I beg you had been waiting for days to be free and ask me out."

My jaw clenched a little and I refrained from shifting my weight or changing my position in any way. But there was no way I could stop fondling bashfully with the hemline of my skirt. Was I really that easy to be seen through? I somehow never dared to ask him about his life, somehow I didn't and did not even want to care. I was just happy to have interesting conversations with him, while everything that regarded our personalities did not matter at all.

"What have you been doing the past years, occupationally?", I asked hastily.

"I was establishing myself as a self-employed business man."

"For what sort of business?", I asked and caught myself gnawing on my pen.

"People consult me settling and conduct delicate affairs secretly and discretely. To say it bluntly I may perhaps be some sort of general dogsbody."

"_Dear Jim, could you fix it for me...?_", I was tempted to speak in dulcet tones and I even earned a little acknowledging smile of Jim and a content nod, while he never stopped returning my looking asquint at him, still transcribing his little message.

"Indeed, that was their most preferred way in approaching me."

"Seems to still be quite successful and lucrative."

"Money doesn't matter. The main thing is that every job is a new task, no matter how easy it turns out to be."

"_Care for a coffee_?", I read out my transcription, "Are you serious?"

To be honest, for someone like Jim this had been a very lame feeble and lame attempt.

"Why shouldn't I? 'tis just boring in here.", Jim yawned, while stretching his sore limbs.

"There's no time for such a thing! I will wait till that dodderer has finished."

"Why?"

"I'm sticking to my principles. I will not miss a lecture at any cost."

Jim looked at me, stunned, raising his eyebrows and huffing.

"You. Are. Boring."

"Imagine, I have to leave earlier today."

"Where to?"

"It's just training. Or, let's call it by my father's words, my physical exercises.", I snorted and began to shuffle all my things together and let them slip into my bag.

"Exercises? No offence, Sharon, but that's a waste of effort."

"It's just some kind of very useful stuff.", I smirked and rapped his knuckles by using my script. But I knew, this time it was my lame attempt to pay him back.

"Sounds interesting. I can even imagine you in short tracksuit pants.", Jim sneered, shaking his hand and his eyes glistened wickedly.

"Beware, Jim. I already know how to defend myself from evil gits who are hot for my knickers. There are indeed interesting defensive counterattacks that can hurt a lot, if you know what I mean."

"So it's still on the offer?"

"What?"

"Your maidenhood."

I did not really want to know how deeply red I must have blushed. There had no one ever in my life been mentioning such a topic. That had always definitely been off-limits.

"Well, with some father like I have, I had never had the possibility to get even close to someone who would have seen me as something else than a little girl or a little prude student.", I said honestly and felt my cheeks blush a little more. I wasn't as inexperienced with men as it appeared, but I was surely less experienced than any other young woman of my age. I had had some relationships, but they lasted as long as a sunny day in London.

"I guess you would be clever enough to sneak your way out."

"With all that secure-facilities my father installed I guess it is as hard as to break out from Pentonville prison."

"You would not even expect how easy such a thing could be.", Jim said and his smile still let my cheeks burn. I stood up and greeted Jim hastily, making my way out of the University on wobbly feet. Anthea was already waiting at the Mercedes.

For the first time I was looking forward to training with a punchbag. I was really eager to pummel something hard.

* * *

_"I've gotta favour to ask you. The next day I got a day off can I come over to your place to hang out?", _Sally asked at the other end of the phone and I rolled myself to an upright position on my bed and crossed my legs, while I swirled strands of my black curly hair around my index finger.

"Why would you want to do that?", I asked her and picked some fluffs off my satin bedding.

_"I am curious, I want to see where you live!",_ Sally chortled.

"No way.", I said as shortly and determined as I could.

"_Oh, pretty please_?", Sally begged, with a super sweet and silky voice.

I was able to imagine her pouting, fluttering her long eyelashes and wringing her hands for me if she was ready for really wheedling me into anything she wanted to achieve. But at least while calling her on the phone she didn't have that advantage on me.

"No way, you would just make fun of me, with all that strange household we have.", I repeated and stretched out my weary legs to finally let them rest on my fleecy hand-woven carpet.

_"No matter how much I beg you? Could I even bribe you with my world famous chocolate cupcakes?"_,

"No way.", I said, but less persistent as before, gradually beginning to hardly suppress my laughter.

_"It's just that I have been thinking that it's about time I paid my respects to my beloved Sharon's family and thanked her properly for her support and kindness."_

"No way in hell, Sally.", I finally chuckled and stood up while slowly walking to the window, where heavy raindrops pitter-pattered onto and were slowly trailing down.

Sally sighed exaggeratedly and disappointedly heavy.

"To be honest, my father would never let anyone visit me at home. He would be even very surprised that I would love to bring a friend like you home. No offence, Sally, but I've hardly in my whole life had any visitors.", I explained and propped against the window seat.

_"What a strange father, what a strange life you have,", _Sally said and I still heard a light tone of disappointment in her voice, _"but do not forget about the party this weekend, ok? I'm counting on your presence!"_

"Even if I successfully break the news to my dad, I still do not know if I will be able to come."

_"Come on, don't spoil the party and don't chicken around, Sharon! You have to have some fun and I bet you'll have a great time there. If anything doesn't work out for you, I'll be there too, keep that in mind!" _

"I know, thanks, Sally. I'll do my best."

_"You have to! If you don't, I'll drag you there by your ears!", _Sally hollered loudly that I had to hold my phone away from me.

"Sure you will!, See ya!", I yelled and my finger drew nearer to the button that would cut her off.

_"Hey, I'm not finished yet!"_

"I really have to quit, sorry!", I babbled hastily and finally hung up the phone and threw it onto my bed.

I sat down onto the window seat, drew up my knees and leaned myself back, while taking a deep breath.

Finally some peace.

There was still a lot to come that week, as I would have to call on our dean of the humanistic science faculty for position as scientific assistant at our University. I was one of the best candidates to that sought-after position and I would gain very good experience if I really were able to get it. The job also included some organisationally and representative work which I would love to do.

That position would be my best option to change my student life a bit and receive new tasks which were definitely tough jobs, but the right thing for my plans. And the best thing of it was, that I somehow felt it in my bones that my father would be proud of me if I finally made myself a name beside my moderately exceptional success in my studies and most importantly, independently from anything that had to do with my father's business.

I would finish my studies and anything that I had started, but I would no longer let my father decide on my future. I wanted to walk my own path, even if it could be the wrong one.

I would chose what to do. I would chose whom to meet. I would chose how to live.

The prospect of beginning a new life let my shiver with excitement.

Someone was knocking on my door.

Anthea.

Was there really no peace and calmness for me? Just for a few movements?

"Miss Holmes.", Anthea said and didn't even care to put her annoying phone away, even when she was attempting to talk to me. I guess Miss X wouldn't even notice someone pointing a gun at her, as fixed as she was onto it. The only thing waking her up would perhaps be sending her a photo of the scene, that she would reckon in which situation she would find herself in.

I let my head fall back, lean against the window frame and watched the cars on the streets pass by, making the water of the thousands of little puddles slosh onto the pavement.

"What is it?"

"Your father's here and asking you out for dinner."

My head spun around and I almost fell off the seat as I was so very much surprised.

"You're sure? No too early and untimely April fool's? No false message sent to your precious phone?", I spat and I knew it wasn't right to be that harsh, but I was still and would ever be angry with my dad always sending me to Coventry.

I was a grown woman, but I'd always needed my dad when I was a teenager and he hadn't been there. I still needed my dad. Somehow I knew that nothing would change and he wouldn't bother to be there for me in the future as well.

That thought made me so very sad and angry at the same time, that I didn't want to see him. I was even rather talking to an unconcerned woman who seemed to be glued to that little advanced electronic device in her hands.

"Sorry.", I mumbled immediately, hopped off my seat and walked up to her. However much I despised her following wherever I went, I knew she just did it because my father ordered her to do so. And there was no point in letting my anger out on her, as she was just assiduously carrying out all orders.

"Already forgotten, Miss Holmes. You cannot spoil my day anyways, as I met that charming guest of your father's again. He has to visit quite often, since he's close to Sherlock.", Anthea said, while looking up from her phone and shortly smiling at me.

I looked at her, startled. Was Anthea actually giving me a little insight into her private life? Was she actually giving me information about something I should perhaps not know?

"I didn't know you are able to display feelings like compassion, Miss Anthea.", I chuckled and was happy as I saw her smiling again and nodding quickly.

"Still waters run deep, Miss Holmes."

I followed her out of my room and felt excitement rushing through my veins. I recalled that my last conversation with father lay about three weeks behind. He must have been really busy then. Had all of that really to do with Sherlock all alone? I noticed that he'd helped to solve quite difficult cases in the past, as that one with the series of suicides. But there were actually other things going on, lots of bombings with several people getting killed.

London grew more criminal the past time.

I knew that the police would have consulted the world's only consulting detective to minimise the threat of the actual crime scene, but it seemed that there was no end to all those horrible cases, as if someone always kept pulling the strings behind the scenes and letting all people dance in a deadly round.

Father was already waiting for me in the salon, sitting on his most favourite divan, with crossed legs and a sly smile on his face.

"Sharon, my dear, I am so happy to see you. Please, sit down."

"Where have you been the past weeks?"

"There was a lot of business in the office, especially with the elections and those missile plans, Sharon. You know that there is so much going on these days, that I even had to consult your uncle to be somehow able to cope with the mass of cases."

"Don't distract from my main question, Dad. I was asking you where you had been, but please don't tell me that you actually started to sleep in our office or that horrible Diogenes club.", I said and crossed my arms, declining his offer to join him sitting down.

"Why that harsh, Sharon? You know that there must at least be someone who earns the money, especially for your education."

"Dad, you're actually dumbing down this conversation so fast that I even ask myself why I even bothered to listen to you."

"Sharon, you're being tactless."

"You, have been tactless! Have you even cared about telling me that you are ok? Even telling me through Anthea would have sufficed! Do you even know what is actually going on in my life?"

"I do and I am not welcoming your decisions and desires."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot approve your wish to be an assistant at the University. The headmaster called me today and told me that there's a fine prospect for a, outstanding career for you."

"The headmaster called you? So I managed to convince them?", I asked and I felt excitement rushing through my veins and I didn't even try to hide my boundless joy about that news.

"No matter if you convinced the whole University of your assets, I will not be convinced and that must suffice for you declining the offer to work there."

"Why should I? I will finally take my life in my own hands. I have chosen to work there and I will work there."

"There are politics going on there, Sharon. You do not fit into that system. You don't have the -"

"Courage? Experience? Skills? What else should miss? I did everything you ordered me to do the past years, just to be someday able to get in such a position like that. You have equipped me with every single skill you thought useful for me being able to survive in the 'real world'. You've taken away my life, Dad. But you won't take away my plans for the rest of it."

"There will be bad things coming up Sharon, everywhere in the city. I just don't want you to get involved, to be in danger."

"Then you even must prohibit it to finish the last year of my studies, do you know that?"

"Well, I already have taken care of that."

"What did-?"

"I've already arranged it for you to finish your studies abroad. I thought Germany would be quite nice, wouldn't it?", Mycroft said, smiled and with that he reached into his suit-pocket and drew out an envelope and passed it to me. I held my breath as I read the document and felt my chest rise and fall in agitation. Mycroft was really attempting to ruin my will to live and move on the way I had done before.

"I will certainly not let you drive me away from here! Even if you did not even care to make me feel at home here, I will not go away. I've just begun to make some friends. I've just begun to change something in that miserable life which you forced me to lead"

"Sharon, as your father I must insist that you believe me, especially me in my position, that it is no longer safe for you in London with all those hidden criminal forces building up in London!"

"I won't let you cage me inside! I won't let you treat me like you treated mum!", I screamed, threw the letter away and quickly strode to the door.

"Sharon, wait!"

"And by the way, I'm going to a party tomorrow and I don't know when I'll return. So don't be bothered to save me any dinner!", I spat and stepped outside, right into the heavy rain.

I didn't even wait for my dad to answer and smashed the door shut behind me and really enjoyed the loud noise it made.

I somehow imitated the outcry of anger that boiled up inside me.

I took the few steps down to the street and called myself a cab.

Now I could really need some of Sally's chocolate cupcakes.

* * *

**Please review ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone!**

**Here's the next chapter and I hope you'll like it! Please keep reading!**

**Thanks a lot to _lovely thoughts_ for the first review on this story! I was very happy to get some feedback!**

**I would be happy to read what all of you think and please do not hestitate to correct any mistakes, I am very grateful for support! **

**Enjoy!**

**Olivia**

* * *

YOU SEE ME

_**MARCH**_

Contrary to my expectations Pietro's party was really nice. Pietro's father ran a popular and flourishing little Italian restaurant in the inner city, which even was ranked to be one of the best of its kind in London. As for that, it wasn't a dive or a doss house like I had first expected it to be, but it was quite a fancy restaurant where you definitely had to order wine.

The revellers even had a nice small dinner, prepared from the host Venucci senior himself. I definitely fell for his antipasti, but I generally loved to be there. I was finally able to let myself go and just enjoy being away from home, away from the daily procedure of having to fulfil my duties and come up to certain expectations. And most importantly, I was able to drown all my problems with Mycroft in a good drop of wine.

I was just having fun.

I bet until that evening I wouldn't even have been able to describe the word fun at all.

Sally was already drunk and I already bet with some guys how long it would take her to dance on the table or to fall asleep. I was really happy that we had our little party in an extra room, where the drunk students were separated from the well-paying and first-rate customers.

Beppo Rovito, who was the boyfriend of Pietro was quite a wag and cracked jokes after jokes, that no one at the table was ever able to catch their breath, as everyone was rolling on the floor, laughing. It was so great to just yell with laughter and join into that fun. By the way, I really did justice to the wine.

I've never been really drunk in my life before, but that evening I knew I was close to completely make myself dead drunk that I would not remember a thing the next day. Nevertheless, it wasn't the drinking bout that it seemed to be. But the greatest attraction to get myself plastered was the effect it probably would have onto my dad. I would love to see his face and even Anthea's when they had to pick me up from wherever I would end up that night. Yes, I hadn't even made my plans how the heck I would get back home.

I had good chats with Pietro's guests, who appeared to be quite interesting people, at least funny ones. If I had learned something the last weeks, then that it was essential to sometimes let your prejudices fall aside and just listen to people's stories, and most important, not underestimate them.

Well, if that thought wasn't the next opportunity to take a quick gulp!

To be completely honest, as much as I really enjoyed having nice chats with those charming colleagues and friends of Pietro, I was just somehow happy to completely blank out my daily life. Not only that, also those things that stirred it up. I wanted to forget those horrible unsolved crime scenes that happened more often these days. I was happy to forget the complicated situation with my dad. I was happy to forget everything that bothered me personally.

Under rapturous applause Beppo then opened a bottle of the restaurant's best wine, poured everyone a glass and then began to speak: "I once more want to propose a toast to our dear Pietro, for whom we all wish that he will be London's greatest newcomer artist! And I want to congratulate Sharon to that job as high assistant! Break a leg!"

I bowed my head as thanks, said my cheers and emptied my glass. My vision was already a bit blurred and my thoughts just seemed as clouded as London's sky likely tended to be.

Sally, who sat to my left, suddenly rested her head onto my shoulder and sighed deeply. I patted her head gently and let my glass be refilled by Beppo, who seemed to be eager to make us all drunk entirely.

"Ah, isn't he so adorable?", Sally sighed with pleasure and put her arms around me and squeezed me tight. I tried to free myself from her grasp, but a drunkard's grip could be as firm as a constrictor snake's.

"Who?", I laughed and grabbed her arms, because she slowly really started to squeeze the air out of my lungs.

"That bighead doesn't deserve him at all.", she said, finally detaching herself from me and pointing her finger at Beppo, who just put a smacking kiss onto his boyfriend Pietro's cheek.

But at an instant it wasn't Pietro, to whom I had directed my amused gaze, as it shifted to another person, who had just entered and talked to Pietro and Beppo. Beppo was very startled at an instant and I reckoned that he had a fierce conversation with Jim. But Jim's face was bright and he wore a sly smile on his face, his eyes quickly scanning the room and lingering for just the blink of an eye on my face.

As soon as he had finished his chat, Jim immediately came up to where Sally and I hung out and sat down, a quick nod being his saying hello. At his presence, I felt new freshness rushing through my limbs and in an instant it felt as if I was still sober and I straightened myself up. Sally slid down from my shoulder, just to rest her head upon my lap and dozing off immediately, silently moaning.

"Your lap seems be quite comfortable.", Jim said with a smirk, which seemed to hide another deeper feeling, going by the sagging shoulders and the glimpses of annoyance in his eyes, tiredness.

"What a pain that it's already occupied.", I said and was surprised at the mental vigour and briskness I could still adopt as my own, in spite of the great deal of wine that already flooded through my veins. "You seem to know Beppo."

"He once consulted me for a job. But I rejected his request. That job was too banal."

Jim snickered and reached out for my glass of wine, took a sip and grimaced.

"Man, what a fusel!", he cried out and wiped his mouth as if he wanted to desperately get rid of the wine's taste.

"The best is still not enough for you?", I asked him, very amused and slightly shifted my weight under Sally, just to get into a more comfortable position. Sally murmured softly and grabbed the fabric of my skirt.

"I had to endure a lot this evening, just don't make it worse, would you?"

"So you were already out tonight? No wonder you were the last to come.", I said and took my glass back and emptied it with a quick gulp. Jim frowned with a shiver and a disgusted look on his face, but began to roll up the sleeves of his Spencer Hart button-down shirt I always asked myself, where the hell he had been getting the money for buying such clothes, so I really had no clue what his business had really been about if he made so much money with it.

There was already so much to ask him about. But what the hell was I thinking? Did I even want to know about him? He was old, for god's sake, much too old for me to be interested in. But why the hell did I always think of the one way in being interested? Why was I not seeing him as a normal person, a normal acquaintance?

Was I just thinking about him just in one particular way, because I had never had such interesting conversations with men at all? Was I fascinated by him?

Fascination could blend people easily and make them imagining the most fancy things.

No matter what made me really uncomfortable and excited at the same time whenever I was with Jim, I had to really start mingling with people, no matter who they were, as long as I was able to gather social experience.

"Well, I had to eat the worst pizza that you can probably get in London, desperately keep up stale conversations, eat tons of ice cream, ruffle a pug-ugly tomcat's fur and to cap it all, had to watch a stupid teeny telly show at an awfully gaudy flat where I would normally not take a single step inside."

"Almost sounds like you had to look after and babysit a little girl."

"Molly indeed didn't seem to be anything more than a little girl.", Jim huffed and let his eyes rest on my neck, while they glistened harshly with annoyance, tiredness and general exhaustion. He tapped with his fingertips onto the table, as if he was restless just as much and his somehow deadpan and vacant expression grew harder and harder as if thousand thoughts swirled around in his mind, while he was processing them all at the same time.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch and my pulse rise, but I tried to calm myself down with another glass of wine. I had to drown the fright of emotion that rushed through my veins implacably. But there was no denying it. I was curious. Far too curious for my liking.

"A woman who seems to be nothing more than a girl? Well, if you look around in here, you will find not a single one who hasn't got that attribute."

Jim closed his eyes and rubbed with his hands over his face.

"That's true," he mumbled and as if he wanted to catch my response, spread his fingers to look at me, "but _that_ woman was a special species of her own."

I chuckled and somehow desperately wanted to ask him further, but I didn't want to reveal my curiosity and fidgeted about just as much as I could with Sally cradled upon my lap.

"At least she introduced me to someone very interesting today. I guess his name was Sherlock Holmes, that man who's always in the papers."

I almost snorted with a very weird sound, managed to cover it up with a sudden spasm of coughing, but in such a way that I almost threw Sally off.

"Sherlock Holmes?", I panted and dashed away a tear from the corner of my eye.

I saw Jim raising an eyebrow at my reaction. Perhaps it was the most physically palpably feedback that I've ever given to him.

"You know him? It's a small world!", he stated in a most surprised way and sniggered while shaking his head. But all of a sudden his eyes began to rest on mine, while I reckoned him shifting his weight a little further. I squinted my eyes slightly at his movements.

Well, that was hardly surprising. Sherlock Holmes could indeed leave a sharp and lasting impression and everyone being involved or at least acquainted with him seemed to be therefore someone, let's say, quite interesting.

I was just letting Jim's movements sink in, but that seemed to be too long for his impatient mood and he leaned even further, a vigorous expression shortly running over his face.

"Tell me.", he said, his voice suddenly lowering but exerting an unsettling penetratingness, that was utterly weird, but for whatever reason, not unexpected. No frigging idea why, I felt instantly impelled to answer him.

"I do know who he is, quite well I guess, but I do not really know him. No one can really know him. He is the real one being a special species of his own, but really the only one of his kind."

"Do you really think so?", Jim asked and I felt more and more uncomfortable under his strong gaze. Did I really want to talk about Sherlock? I wasn't even able to do that without speaking ill of him and painting his name black, as I was just not able to do anything else, especially in that foul mood which Jim slowly managed to set me into. Was he really going to ruin that great evening I had so far?

"You know him quite well? How come?"

"It's something I don't like to talk about. I think I would be happier if I wouldn't know him at all."

"As if he wouldn't exist?", Jim asked with an audacious smirk and grabbed the bottle of Irish Whiskey which had been my present for Pietro and which I had clandestinely 'borrowed' from my father's collection.

"How did you hit on that?", I yelled with an ironical laughter, but was secretly asking myself if he did know more and already knew that Sherlock Holmes was my relative.

"Ordinary guesswork.", Jim muttered and poured himself a glass. He seemed to be a lot more content with that noble liquor and enjoyed sip after sip, while I watched him drinking.

"What do you think of Sherlock, Jim?", I asked and was angry about feeling my voice tremble and I knew I had given myself away by calling my uncle by his first name. Jim now must have concluded that Sherlock and I were, in whatever constellation, somehow close.

"For the three minutes that I was granted to be with him, I was able to deduce quite a lot. Very much indeed, in spite of him not even once looking directly at me."

"Sherlock could even leave an impression just by looking at him once in a lifetime.", I grumbled and tried to avoid Jim's gaze, as I knew I was inciting and provoking his curiosity.

But he sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. Even that small space put between us steadied my nerves and I reckoned that my breaths had been shallow. I also took a deep breath and began to gently rub Sally's back, which she appreciated by humming softly in her slumber.

"What did you see?", I asked finally to cut through the thick air.

"He lacks something that I can at least pretend to have.", Jim said and in spite of his strange comment, he showed me no emotion on his face this time.

"Which would be?"

"Id quod inter est."

"Interest?", I asked him, being completely taken aback by his provocative posture, " Are you saying that you think he might be exceptionally ordinary?"

"No, he's less than even ordinary. He's boring."

I slowly began to laugh, just to make the situation easier for me to assess.

"You can tell that by meeting him just for three minutes? If it weren't for you, Jim, I would even daresay that the famous Sherlock and you, indeed share some distinct features."

This time my statement found it's expression in his totally intimidating gaze. It darkened immediately as soon as I only mouthed the delicate sounds with my trembling lips.

His eyes were just two fathomless holes of darkness, he clenched his teeth and I saw the veins on his neck protrude and pulsate.

But as soon as he had shortly seemed to show me a totally other side of his own, he breathed deep and burst into a high-pitch and splitting laughter, that even some bystanders turned around to look at him. Sally, for her sake, slept like a log.

And once again, even that outburst of that sudden load of emotion faded away as quickly as I could say 'science of deduction'. Yes, I have once had a look at my uncle's website, thank you very much.

Jim coughed slightly and showed me one of his charmingly natural smiles.

"Sorry, Sharon, but I've never thought about the whole thing that way."

All that I could muster a faint twitch of my eyelids and I grabbed Sally's shirt, while utterly confusing questions swirled around in my mind. The biggest of it was personified by the strange figure right in front of me.

Jim smiled at me again and I felt myself shiver as he stretched his arm to reach out for my hand, but I let mine rest on Sally's back.

"Sorry...", he whispered and managed to look at me with big puppy dog eyes, but I was no longer able to stand him eyeballing me. I looked down into my lap and forced myself to a faint smile that Jim would accept as fitting into that strange situation.

"You're so sweet...", Sally sighed unawares and nuzzled even further into my lap and I was happy that I had to snicker about her dreaming that vividly of her best friend. For once, I would let that lovey-dovey girl use my lap as pillow. As long as she didn't start to fancy her best friend for real, who already showed more than distinctly that he was not interested in any living human that was able to bear children.

"Thanks, Sally.", Jim mumbled wickedly.

"Hey, even not an insane person would ever come to the conclusion to call you sweet!", I protested with another faint smirk and was happy that we actually seemed doing well in bridging that uncomfortable situation.

"But what if I am perhaps one of the best to understand insane people, just because I know how it feels to be like them?", Jim asked and gulfed down his drink.

"Let me calm you down, Jim. I guess you are indeed crazy, but a bit too ordinary to be insane.", I mocked him and was happy that I even enjoyed doing it. I even used the chance to and argue him out of that unpleasant Sherlock topic.

"But exceptionally ordinary at least, I hope?"

"I guess you manage to display that quite well."

"I'm happy to have finally won even you over.", Jim concluded and folded his arms behind his head with a winning and also taunting smile.

"Talking mindless drivel.", I groaned disappointedly and let the rest of the wine swirl around in my glass, before I emptied it.

"What?"

"The worst thing is, you're not using that drivel like every other guy just for impressing the ladies."

I threw a quick challenging glance at Jim and caught him gawping at me fixedly at my teasing appearance, with his mouth slightly open which slowly formed an ambiguous smirk.

How much did I want to wipe that smirk off his handsome face!

Wait, am I actually thinking-?

"Am I?", Jim asked, his smile even brightening further.

"You are. That's as much as I can deduce and I am happy to have at least once used my family's special talents in the right way."

"Very well done, Sharon. You are right. I doubtlessly have no talent for things that bore me.", Jim agreed with a very stern tone in his calm voice and nodded approvingly.

"So what are you actually trying to accomplish?", I posed the one question that I had on the tip of my tongue for such a long time.

"I am trying to make you providing me with information.", Jim said simply and looked me directly into the eye, letting his captivating smile sink into me even more.

"And about what would that be?"

His answer was given slightly tardier than before and I saw him wrinkle his forehead a little as he looked over my whole body, his smile even getting a bantering darkness that glinted in his eyes.

"Confessing."

"What could I confess?", I laughed.

"That you're beginning to fancy me."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys!**

**I hope you are all doing well and enjoy reading this story.**

**First, I have to state out that I'll be on holidays in London the next days, so there won't be an update for about week or something. I hope you understand this and will still stick with me! **

**Secondly, I would be very happy if some of you actually reviewed this story, as I really would appreciate some feedback. It would really help me to know what you think of the whole thing to make my joy writing this story increase. Just take two minutes, will you? ;)**

**Please enjoy reading and leave a little comment!**

**Thanks for that, Olivia**

* * *

YOU FANCY ME

_**MARCH**_

"You're beginning to fancy me."

My laughter stopped immediately and I felt a lump in my throat growing bigger and bigger. I tried to swallow hard, but nothing could help me keeping calm in that situation.

What should I say? What should I think? Not a single clear thought crossed my dizzy mind which was blanked by Jim's words.

Come on, Sharon, think of something to repay him that impertinent assumption, think of something to oppose him as good as you did before!

I nervously pulled a loose strand of my hair behind my ear and kept avoiding to look at him. I presumed that my reaction wasn't the best, as I kept sliding deeper and deeper into that awkward situation. I didn't even want to know which glance he was actually giving me.

I had to desperately clear my mind, as soon as it was possible. But Jim had, along with the large amount of wine, taken away all my mental abilities to cope with and defuse any odd situation I found myself in.

"Is the first weak spot I discover on you myself?", Jim pushed even further and I glanced back at him, slowly getting angry with him, which I even welcomed more than being embarrassed. At least I would be able to transform fury very much easier into challenging and evasive answers than I would with shy shamefacedness.

"You do once again overestimate your character, Jim."

"Oh, really? I may now show you a real deduction, Miss Sharon," Jim snickered and slightly raised his voice, "Your shoulders are square to mine, your knees are pointing towards me, you are quicker to smile than usual, your wariness is loosened, but you do carefully chose your words to tease me, even if you do it unconsciously. Should I go further?"

Jim let his gaze wander off, as if he was already bored to have to lecture me, but I was eager to clear that situation once and for all.

"And all this means I'm beginning to fancy you, does it?", I asked a little startled, but still angry.

"- beginning to blush.", Jim mumbled, his eyes still fixed on a point somewhere else and I looked aside as if I wanted to indeed hide my heatedly burning cheeks.

"And all that means I fancy you?", I insisted, but my voice was a lot quieter than before, no matter how hard I tried to cover up my ashamedness.

"Not only those things of course. But displaying every single reason for that would be too much of being like showing off.", Jim said and looked back at me, but somehow he didn't seem to be as much as content and amused about our ongoing conversation as before.

"Modesty in person, aren't you?", I tried again, but I felt how I slowly began to lose him, his attention. Jim had already decided for himself that he had won that banter this time. Let's even call the whole thing contest in eloquence, I mean, look at that conversationalist that had been challenging me. But I wouldn't not leave it at that, no way in hell!

"I'm crazy remember?", he murmured and suddenly his phone made a short noise. He out his phone of his front pocket, which I only observed with disfavour and which fuelled my anger even more.

"No, I've decided that now it's definitely shifting to mad.", I concluded and watched him checking his mails intently. Jim was totally focused onto that bloody HTC in his hands, his face brightened up as he let his finger flip over the screen. Was he actually testing my ability to keeping my temper? He instantly remembered me of Anthea using her annoying phone.

"Mad about...?", he asked back, still pretending to be bantering with me, but a message seemed to really catch his attention and his drifting off into a complete other thought and different matter almost put me over the edge. Jim began to smile wickedly, but somehow also like a little boy who had just received the biggest, best Christmas present on earth.

"At a pool! What a nice place to meet...", Jim whispered, but I was already carefully pushing Sally away from my lap.

"You're as mad as a March hare!", I spat at him and grabbed my bag and stood up. Jim looked up from his phone, frowning.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I've got to go."

"Why, all of a sudden?", he asked, put his phone away and stood up as well, coming up to me, while I nervously tried to keep enough distance between us. I really had hard times standing upright in front of him, in no way steadily on both of my feet. The wine had really done it's bidding.

My thoughts began to swirl and I felt Jim grabbing my arm for support. As soon as his fingers touched the skin of my upper arm, I felt myself shiver of sudden excitement and dislike at the same time.

"I want to leave.", I squawked and desperately tried to free myself from Jim's grasp.

"Please, stay here, I want you to."

"No, James, I can't and don't want to."

"What's stopping you?", Jim asked and searched the look of my eyes.

"As long as you only pay attention at that phone and not really notice me at all, I won't stay any longer. And additionally, I really have to doss down. I just can't stay any longer.", I grumbled and angrily pushed him away by his chest with the palm of my hand and he instantly also grabbed my hand, while I gradually but unwillingly had to rest all my weight against his body. It had really been no good idea standing up that harshly.

My legs wobbled, my head was spinning, my breath shallow and I had to cling onto Jim's shoulders to somehow keep myself standing upright. Worse for me was that I was so close. We were too close.

I felt him holding me tight and I knew that he felt all my weight upon him, my figure leaning against him, my cheeks still blushing, hopefully mainly because of the wine.

"Let me go.", I whispered weakly, but it was just a vain attempt in preserving my dignity.

"You cannot even stand! I hope you are at least going to let me give you a ride.", Jim said and put his arm around my shoulder, but all I recognised was his scornful undertone.

But what could I do? I really wasn't even able to stand and therefore it had been very astonishing that my thoughts had so far been quite clear and ordered. Nevertheless, with making no defence, I let myself being dragged by Jim from the party-place out of the restaurant. The streets were still filled with people, who even queued up to get into Venucci's.

"You really don't have to do that. I'll get myself a cab.", I protested another time, but Jim just patted my back, hushing me with a soft tune.

"We're almost at my car and I would love to help you out, Sharon."

I finally surrendered and let my head fall onto his shoulder, closing my eyes and breathing deep to somewhat rebalance myself. I felt his grasp around my shoulder even tighten as he held me closer and let his hand trail its way down to my hip and he was able to make me rest my weight even more against his body.

But as my nose brushed along the crook of his neck, I got a large whiff of his cologne and it was ten times more intense than Venucci's choice wine.

"Here we go."

Jim guided me to a silver limousine, but I wasn't able anymore to see what car it actually was. But as he opened the door for me and placed me on the co-driver's seat I found myself sitting on the finest leather car seat I've ever seen.

I let myself fall back into that comfortable seat and closed my eyes. The soft humming of the car engine almost let me fall into a deep and dreamless slumber. I still felt the alcohol rushing through my whole body and making me more than dizzy, as well as I still believed to feel Jim's strong arms around my body. I looked out of the window and watched all the lights pass, watched all those flickering colourful lights, those blinking lanterns, watched all those people still roaming the streets and looking for distraction.

Distraction?

I blinked with my eyes and looked at Jim, who silently had been driving around in the streets.

"How long had I been off?", I asked him and felt excitement rushing through my veins as I felt that I really had been dozing off. I slowly stretched my limbs as my legs have gone to sleep.

"Don't worry, there's still enough petrol."

"Guess you could drive around with me all night long, right?", I asked and had a good yawn. I continued to look at the streets and after that quick nap, I reckoned that my mind was a lot clearer than before, but I was still slow with processing my thoughts and feelings.

Jim was actually driving me around in a car that seemed to be so very much exclusive that it only would suit the Queen to let herself being chauffeured with.

I knew I had not had any expectations where that evening would lead me to, but definitely not into that direction. We drove along Green Park and I enjoyed the wonderful view. Even at night London was wonderful to behold.

"Now, where would you prefer?", Jim said suddenly and I unglued my gaze from the streets and looked at him, "One: A rooftop. Two: A Park. Or three: A nice abandoned cemetery?"

"Well, for what?", I frowned and watched Jim's clear-cut profile, while he drove down the valley unhurriedly.

"Our first time of course!"

"Wh- what? I choose none of the above!"

My heart sank into my boots, but at the same time it was in my mouth and beat so fast that I actually thought I would collapse. My head spun even more now and I was not able to think straight and keep a level head, as soon as his words had reached my ears.

Was Jim actually kidding me? Was he actually really nothing different from than any other ordinary guy? Were his statements from before just nothing but downright audacious lies?

Well, it was my fault anyway. Jim was frightfully clever. He was smart.

He was experienced, sharp and had been able to detect my weaknesses, meeting all my desires of how a man should actually face me, speak with me, even oppose me. Had I been really so stupid that I fed him with everything he needed, just to get me that far?

It was my own fault. I trusted him.

Trust.

Even trust was said too much and I didn't like the thought of having really trusted him. I liked him. I liked his way he presented himself, how he spoke to me, how he responded to me and how he challenged me with everything he said and did.

But after all, I was naive and had allowed my sense of rationality repose on the excuse of inexperience.

"Really still a virgin, are you? What a pain!", Jim cried out and lowered the tempo of the car, slowly pulling over. "We'll go on choice four then."

"What's choice four?", I breathed as the car finally came to a stand and I reckoned Jim's eyes glowing in the dark, as he looked at me, smirking.

"That's my place."

"No way in hell!", I spat, bustling about the car door with my shaking hands, desperately trying to get out of it. "Let me out!"

"Sharon..."

I desperately rattled at the door and finally managed to get onto the pavement, stumbled around and hardly kept my balance, just tottered around being in a tizzy. I frantically looked around in the streets, somehow trying to decipher where that freak actually took me to, but I had always been bad with orientating myself at night. This street nevertheless seemed to be familiar, though.

"Sharon!", Jim shouted, got off the car too and came up to me, yelling with laughter.

"Don't you dare come near!", I hissed and took a wobbly step after wobbly step back, desperately trying to keep in mind and recall what I had been learning at my self-defence courses. But all that was crossing mind was actually was impersonated and standing in front of me and raising his arms in a apologetically movement. "Don't you dare touching me!"

Jim suddenly stood still, just kept smirking at me and his eyes grew friendlier and friendlier with every long second that passed.

"Calm down, Sharon."

"Why should I, you freak?"

"I was just repaying you from earlier, remember?", Jim said, turned around and let his hands run through his hair, laughing again.

I just stared at him, completely bewildered. While I stood there, desperately trying to understand what was going on, he just danced around, mischievously snickering as if he had been Rumpelstiltskin himself!

"You're mean and you're definitely crazy...", I whispered and supported myself by grabbing a picket of the fence next to me.

Jim turned around at an instant, took three quick steps until he stood just mere inches away from me, grabbing my arm and slowly bending down, that I could feel his breath on my face. He looked at me with eyes like liquid helium, somehow cold, somehow stern and vigorous, and put emphasis onto his every single word.

"I may be crazy, even insane, dear Sharon, but all that I wanted to teach you is, that I am by no means ordinary."

I looked at him closely and returned his imperious glance with an unsteady one. Jim was right with every single word he said.

It was so strange. I'd never even made a great effort to flirt with any guy my age, if I did, I just behaved foolishly and said silly things. But with Jim it was very different. He was different.

I knew he was of no business for me, far too old, too intelligent behind that kind and naughty surface and a grown man, while I was still getting out of my diapers. But I think those were the conditions that had been increasing my self-assurance. I had already dared to say anything and everything to him, oppose him in every way I could, because it didn't really matter.

I guess he knew too that this was just a little and nice enjoyable game between a grown man and a young girl, who just wanted to have fun, who just enjoyed to get some attention that was even more intense than the kind of attention they received from their comrades and equal-ages. It was more intense, more thrilling and intriguing. It excited me and I enjoyed it in a way that a girl like me should normally not do. But I was addicted to that feelings he was constantly giving me.

I was still not really able to decipher what all of those feelings should be, but I enjoyed having them. I knew I was very much addicted to his conversations with me and had always been curious about his next steps towards me or into whatever direction he would chose.

Still like a girl, I felt more like a woman than ever before. I felt seen. Jim saw me, and even if he perhaps just pretended to be interested, like he said earlier, no matter in whatever way, I wanted every second of it.

Jim knew that he could make me realising that. He pretended to have paid me back, but his look at me told me a thousand things more. But as much as I tried to use my loaf and tax my groggy brain, all I did was understanding how much I enjoyed all of this.

Even if it had no purpose.

But Jim had gone too far. I'd always thought that there had been a distinct invisible line between us, an unexpressed agreement, that we would never really touch on the topic of what he now had been confronting me with.

And as much as I even acknowledged his action of repayment, I was not able to really do it with my mind fully blurred and my heart beating as if it wanted to jump right out of my chest.

I took a deep breath and felt that my rage and indignation didn't fade away the slightest, on the contrary.

"Take me home now.", I said slowly and looked deep into Jim's dark eyes.

"Surely.", Jim answered with a hoarse voice.

As soon as I had taken place next to Jim again, I still felt my blood boil with anger and embarrassment. I clenched my fists and digged them into my lap, constantly trying to ignore the ringing in my ears.

I didn't really realize that we arrived rapidly at Pall Mall and Jim stopped right at the entrance of my father's house.

I snivelled shortly and attempted to get off the car as fast as I could, but Jim's low voice made me hesitate.

"Don't be angry with me. I definitely had to teach a young girl a lesson,", Jim spoke and gripped the steering wheel a little more firmly, "and it was a great deal of fun."

"Then go somewhere else if you want to have that sort of fun, because I don't see the fun of it!", I spat, opened the door once more vigorously that evening, but this time Jim wasn't following me.

I knew it would be wrong to look back.

I knew I would give myself away with it, that I expected him to at least answer me and that I did not want him to leave just like that.

Ever since I met Jim I've somehow been at mercy of his whims.

Nevertheless, I knew somehow I would be the one repaying. Someday, somehow.

But I was glad that I was simply not able to look back at first. I did only look back as the entrance door slammed shut behind me and separated me from the streets. As I heard the tyre squeal and the engine roar, I leaned my head against the wooden door and sighed.

That evening had indeed been extraordinary. Jim had given me a ride h-

I pushed the door open, almost tripped upon the stairs as I ran back onto the streets, but the car and Jim were already gone. My heart beat even faster this time and I finally prostrated onto the pavement, my body surrendering to what my mind had actually to fight with.

There was no doubt about that. Not now, not anymore.

I had been afraid that the whole thing would turn to something like that.

I knew there had never been anything ordinary about the whole thing.

"I didn't tell him, for God's sake!", I hissed, "I did never mention where I live!"

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**Hope you liked it! Please review! ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys!**

**First of all: Sorry to my readers!**

**I am so very sorry about my delay the past weeks, but life's kept me busy.**

**My trip to London has been great, I even have been visiting North Gower Street, perhaps some of you (BBC Sherlock fans) know what is so very special about that place ;)**

**Hope you'll continue reading and enjoy the story!**

**Please tell me what you think! Comments will be more than highly appreciated!**

**Greets!**

* * *

YOU DISAPPOINT ME

_**AUGUST**_

"Miss Holmes?"

"No."

"Your father sends you congratulations and you really need to get up. It's almost lunchtime."

"If my father wants to congratulate to me he has to speak to me personally."

There was no way my father would want to congratulate me getting that assistant position at the University for real. But I was still quite surprised, though, because I thought that Mycroft would try anything to prevent that from happening. At last, he would have just had to call some people and pull some loose strings to make the headmaster not offering me that job. But he hadn't done it and I had gotten my will.

"You don't want him to see you in that state, do you?"

I lifted my head and rummaged through the fluffy pillows on my bed until I finally got a sight at Anthea who was standing at the door of my room. She was holding a bunch of documents and brochures in her arms instead of not clutching her hands around her phone, which was quite a rare sight.

"Why?"

Anthea rolled her eyes, threw the package of documents onto my desk, quickly strode to the windows and opened the curtains.

"Read those, your father prepared them for you. He still wants to make it tempting for you to finish your studies abroad."

If the whole thing only were about gaining experiences abroad I would immediately to do it. But honestly, deep in my heart I did not even want to waste a single thought about something that was off the cards.

"Just take them with you Anthea and throw them into the fireplace. I think there they can serve me the best.", I mumbled, squinted my sensitive eyes at the dim sunlight and digged my head back into my pillows. I didn't even want to wake up, get up either. It had taken me long enough to get to sleep without dreaming the craziest things.

I didn't want to even let my mind wake up and realize what actually had been happening.

It wasn't even the embarrassment and shame that would let me immediately blush when I thought of all the things I had said and had done. Something else rushed through my veins and left my body almost motionless, a feeling that was changing from angst-burdened apprehension to foreboding fear.

I knew it from the very beginning, but I had been denying what has been right before my eyes. But that man who actually fooled me had been too clever, too prepared and nevertheless too ordinary in his actions (I even wasn't able to snicker about and imagine the look he would give me at that thought).

He had been a great actor, perhaps one of the most talented whose acting I had ever experienced. Some even say that they just act because of their joy in seeing and receiving the audience's reaction.

What would he say if he knew how he had been intruding, almost invading my life, about him leaving deep footprints that lead into no direction?

Jim had left, that was definitely clear and obvious. I hadn't been able to see him ever again in the University since that evening and he didn't approach me anywhere else. Someone like him would not overlook his crucial mistake. Therefore it was just expectable that he vanished into thin air.

Jim was gone.

However hard I tried, there was no way that I could see how the hell I should be able to find out who he actually had been. Jim had left nothing behind.

Nothing but memories. Those purposeful lies were composed in vain and shot down as soon as he had made that mistake. Who knew, perhaps his inattention hadn't been a mistake at all, perhaps his final action had been a thoughtfully placed message, the first act being a real message at all.

Perhaps it had just been a warning.

A warning to a naive little student girl, who never thought how big and bad the real world had actually been. Even if she did, she had not barely been able to understand the words danger and deception at all.

I wasn't able to think of what I should do next. I knew I couldn't hide myself in my room forever, I couldn't run away from life just because all that had happened to me.

I've always lived with the fear that whoever had some unfinished business with my father and was eager to teach Mycroft a lesson he won't forget, would someday make his way up to me.

I was the one left being really important to my dad, I was the prey for any villain who really wanted to hit the weak spot of Mycroft Holmes.

But never in my dreams had I been facing a situation where I would understand that I was as much involved in my father's dangerous business as he was himself.

There was nothing I could do about that.

There was nothing I could do about Jim.

Jim disappeared like a Fata Morgana and I was left behind with a frightening feeling of insecurity and thousands of questions whirling around in my head.

Could I even tell my dad about it? Could I not just forget the whole thing? If someone had really been trying to do anything to me, wouldn't he already have done it?

Hadn't Jim been already so close, so close as scarcely anyone had ever been in my life?

Wouldn't Jim have taken advantage of the situation when I had been alone and unprotected in his car or there on the streets? It would have been more than easy to kidnap me, even if all the visitors of Pietro's party had known that Jim had been there, but they had been too drunk as if their testimonies were to be taken serious at all. Additionally, I had been leaving with Jim voluntarily.

I shivered heavily and was happy that the blanket hid my body, which was thoroughly tied up in knots, from Anthea's eagle eyes.

I couldn't even entrust myself to her. No one would understand me why I had been that careless. But had I been careless at all?

Jim had just been a guy like anyone else. A bit old, compared to myself, yes, but nothing more was especially extraordinary about that.

The worst thing was, that I wasn't even really sure if I had told Jim about where I lived at all. Come to think of it, I had been dozing off while we were driving around. Why shouldn't I've told him and simply forgot about it? Don't forget that quantity of alcohol that had been inside my body and blurring my thoughts!

Just to sum the whole thing up, everything seemed to be unreal. Those few weeks that I'd passed in the company of Jim had been different from any weeks I'd passed in my whole life.

Now, with Jim having disappeared, I didn't even have the feeling at all, that Jim had actually been real. He was just a faint figure that haunted my dreams, because I still cudgelled my memory about all that I had experienced and done the last weeks.

It was like a dream and I refused to wake up and face reality.

The mere memory of Jim gave me the creeps and stirred me up at the same time. I did not regret a single minute of it. I had finally begun to live a life which I deserved. Jim, Sally and her friends had finally made me realise that there was so much more to do in your life than just sitting over your books.

I had begun to find my real me, as much as worn out and hackneyed that may sound, but I really managed to pluck up the courage and change myself and my life at least a bit.

But the drawback with Jim had come too early. It had been a punch in the face, that did not wake me up, not the slightest, but let me slip back into my old pattern of behaviour.

I guess the whole thing went even worse.

My whole day consisted of sleeping, eating and watching useless telly shows. The last weeks of the summer holidays I had spent holing myself up in my room and even not bright Sally had been able to make me laugh and enjoy myself again.

Sally has been a great friend, though. I had not told her much about what had happened at all, but Sally instinctively knew that something bigger had been going on, even if she believed a whole other thing to have happened (which I never in hell wanted to imagine at all, not even after Jim playing that sassy trick on me when he was driving me home), she nevertheless tried to back me up.

But Sally was as much as troubled as she couldn't even go to her best friend for support and advice in her deepest matters of her poor little hear. I just wasn't really able to lend her an ear.

She was desperately in love with Pietro, but he was already taken and closely bond to his boyfriend Beppo, and all that was preying on her mind for already such a long time. I felt sorry for her.

But we both were totally occupied with our own mess, that we sometimes even weren't able to prevent our outbursts of anger reach each other and we quarrelled a lot.

I really loved Sally's kindness, but sometimes even she got onto my nerves.

That's why we had loosened our close contact for a while and I haven't heard anything from her for weeks already.

I knew I shouldn't throw away what I had been achieving the last months, what I had to get accustomed to so slowly, even mostly with the help of the mischievous and strange act of Jim.

I knew I should kick myself in the butt and do something, at least one little action would help.

But I couldn't tell anyone my doubts, my fears, what my suspicion was about Jim's appearance and disappearance. I just was still in the process of regaining self-conscience.

Mycroft would go mad about the whole thing and somehow I felt it in my bones that Jim hadn't been there to harm or endanger me at all. Perhaps Jim had just been there to observe me. Perhaps I shouldn't even complain at all and Jim would just remain a strange memory in the back of my mind.

At least I had been able to pretend that I had been sick for the days after that party, that I had caught a cold while I had been out all night, that my body's strength and stamina were weakened since that occurrence. But I knew that Anthea hadn't been getting me making my pretence of having a delicate and weak physical shape. She knew when something had been wrong with me.

Her thankless task was to guard me like gold and I knew that she already smelled the rat and had a good and educated guess that something had been changing inside me to the worse. I knew she would be on pins and needles if I would give her the absolute feeling that I would slip from her grasp and get out of her control. Anthea was no fool.

"Look at you.", Anthea sighed and held a makeup-mirror in front of my face and I actually had a good look at a bedraggled and pitiable version of myself.

My blank eyes were reddened and bloodshot, my fair skin had a disgusting tone of grey and my hair looked as disordered and messy as I felt.

"I would call it presentable.", I mumbled and reluctantly getting to my feet.

Anthea sighed heavily again, walked to my wardrobe and pulled out some clothes, tossing them onto my bed.

"Get ready would you?", she said shortly and tossed the mirror onto my bed as well and made her way to leave. "I'm no longer buying your act."

My pulse rose and I was trying hard not to fall to my nerves and eagerness to tell her what was worrying me or at least shouting at her, that she should finally leave me alone.

"Anthea...?"

I heard my voice crack at my excitement and Anthea turned around to face me with her eyebrows raised.

"Yes?"

"Ah, nothing.", I mumbled, sat down again and quickly nuzzled myself back into my sheet and looked away from her. I could not give into the urge that burned inside me to reveal myself. I had to endure it. Someday the whole thing would be dead and buried and I would even laugh at my foolish behaviour and be happy that everything would be over.

But I knew the whole bunch of excuses that whirled around in my mind where just a vague attempt of denying what was actually happening to me. My life had not changed alone. I was even deeper in father's mess.

The thought of consulting the mastermind Sherlock Holmes about my problem had crossed my mind several times, but I knew that even my attempt to make him listen to me would be in vain. Sherlock Holmes had no interest in his kin, less in their problems.

Additionally, with those lame clues that I could offer him, there was even no way for the great Sherlock that he could find out who Jim had actually been, for whom he worked and why he had been getting so close to me. There were too less tracks in the end, even for my uncle.

Sherlock would decline my request of help. And not even that alone, I knew, although my father and Sherlock weren't close, he would let slip something through to my dad. If it just were to get him riled up, Sherlock would not care about the problems that it would cause to me, he would just enjoy in having brought his brother to the edge of his tempers. Their rivalry knew no borders. His carelessness for his only niece either.

Perhaps the best thing was just to wait and see.

"Still in bed? Shame on you, Sharon!"

I lifted my sheet again and looked at my father, who leaned against the doorframe and had a sly smile on his face.

"Would you mind getting all the newspapers from today? I would like to have them at lunchtime.", Mycroft said to Anthea and she rolled over her eyes, while taking her leave.

"Why wasting so much money?", I asked and peeled myself finally out of my blanket.

"There's something I really don't want to miss. Your uncle tends to appear a lot in public the last time."

"Sherlock is even in the telly, you know.", I said, grabbing my bathrobe.

"This gossip will not please him. Well, I think he even doesn't care at all."

"I tell you, he loves that attention, but would never admit it.", I said and let my fingers run through my curly, messy hair so somehow straighten it.

"That public interest does him no good. Only attracts people, dangerous people. And I fear that Sherlock is used to handle such a situation."

"Do you doubt his skills, dad? I thought you already consulted him in very difficult issues."

"But he's no one to work in public. I fear for his safety.", Mycroft said and sat down at the edge of my bed, crossing his legs.

"What do you mean by that?", I asked and frowned. My dad actually worrying about his brother? What a rare sight! I thought that such a thing would never be possible at all.

"We have to be careful, Sharon. Sherlock attracts attention and that means attention to the whole Holmes family. I must beg you to be careful. Always."

"I've already learned my lesson dad, I promise I will do the best I can.", I huffed, but had to refrain from flinching as I saw as my dad leaning further to scrutinize me.

"Already learned your lession? Is there something that's on your heart?"

"No, nothing. I am just still shocked about all those horrible bombings from March. I am so happy that Sherlock was able to save the hostages. I am still grateful that he at least was able to save that poor child.", I said hastily and snatched up the pieces of clothes that Anthea had chosen.

"Sherlock did a great job indeed."

"That's the worst kind, you know, someone who would even harm children.", I mumbled and father gave me a sad smile. But I knew that he was still thinking about what I had said earlier. I had to get his attention away from me.

"Do you already know who's all behind those things?", I asked quickly.

Father didn't answer me for a long time.  
"We did and we are still on his track, but he seems to be in hiding for now."

"So it is a man?", I asked, felt excitement rushing through veins, carefully observing any movement my father made, hopeful, that he would let slip some interesting information through. I really had to get my mind concerned about other things, things so very important, things that everyone in the city was facing every day and night. The evil was roaming the streets, the houses and even the minds of people. No one could be too careless anymore.

"He has several faces and we do not know which one is the real one, the one that he uses especially when approaching Sherlock.", my father said and stood up again, wandering around in my room, waving around with his umbrella. Mycroft carrying that thing was a clear sign that he was going to leave for the day very soon.

"So he as a special something about Sherlock?"

"I fear that feeling is mutual."

"So that's what you're concerned about, you fear that this man will choose Sherlock as his target! But why wouldn't you just leave Sherlock be? It's his business after all."

"It is not, you know that, Sharon. And it's my work as well that brought him into this position, as I consult him regularly. After all, he still and will always bear the Holmes' family name."

I swallowed hard and pressed my lips tightly together. My father always pretended to display the hatred that always remained between the two brothers, but I never thought that he was indeed so much concerned about his brother. For my part, there would never dawn the day when I would sympathise with that hell of an uncle.

"He could have refused you, but he did it to seldomly.", I said simply, but Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes, with his body leaning on his umbrella and his legs crossed, which was his favourite position.

"Would you do me the favour and keep your eyes on everything that regards Sherlock's doings?"

"Why should I? Haven't you got enough henchmen? I thought you even brought Dr. Watson in."

"One cannot be careful enough. This case is worrying me the most. But you have to watch yourself too, dear. I fear that someday someone will even come up to you. ", my father said and raised his eyebrows, as bolt of hot flames went right through my body up to my cheeks. "You have to tell me everything that's suspicious to you."

I looked down to my bare toes, playing with fringes of my carpet. I couldn't tell him. I just could not muster the courage and tell him about that Jim I met.

Whatever was awaiting me, I just wanted it to handle it myself. If father would depict and hint of what was troubling me the past few weeks, he would question me as obstinately as I did now refuse to tell him anything. Perhaps I was just as resistant and neglecting any help like Sherlock had always been doing. I feared that this behaviour would turn out as special Holmes' feature.

So perhaps I needed a sibling too, who would care to watch my steps before I would be lured into a trap.

That thought finally made me look back at my father again.

It hadn't crossed my mind before, but now it was the most plausible explanation that I could give myself. Jim's acting hadn't been a warning at all. It was a trap, but a trap in which I didn't walk yet. That was no ordinary trap at all. It would not get me caught as obviously as it appeared to do. That's why Jim had disappeared. The big pitfall was still to come.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys!**

**I hope I'm back quickly enough with this new chapter, but I am very positive that the next one will follow very soon. I am grateful that you stay with me and read this story. I do really start to like that story very much and I would like it even more, if you gave me some feedback, if you please! **

**As English is by no means my mother tongue, I am constantly trying to improve my English skills to satisfy you all and some feedback would certainly help me out to decrease the number of mistakes I make! ;)**

**Thanks for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!**

**Olivia**

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YOU WATCH ME

_**SEPTEMBER**_

"We are very happy to have you with us", said the Dean, reached across his desk and shook my hand long and well, "Hopefully your father will be fine with that arrangement too."

"I am certain he will, Sir. At least I will constantly try to convince him that being in that position is the best I could do.", I answered and gave the man the biggest smile that I could bring off and sat down.

To be completely honest, I wasn't enjoying my first day at all. I felt something in my bones that let me feel mostly uncomfortable. Perhaps because of my bad thoughts that had always been crossing my mind, my constantly being attentive or at least suspicious, I was on pins and needles all the time. Since that happening with Jim, I was not able anymore to know who around me was really a friend and who would be part of the game that someone had obviously begun to play with me.

"I am very pleased to hear that, Miss Holmes."

"Is there anything for me to do, Sir?", I asked dedicatedly.

"Quite quick in getting into that job, aren't you Miss Holmes?", the Dean laughed and folded his arms.

"I don't make any half things."

"Well, I have to disappoint your zest for action for now. Today there's something far more pleasant to do than immediately pouring yourself into work. Therefore I want to invite you to accompany me to the most important lecture that's held today."

"Which lecture? I haven't heard of any special lectures.", I asked, bringing all news about the University into my mind which I could remember.

"The new Professor for the Science of Mathematics and Physics holds his first lecture at this University, while presenting his new bestseller book."

"Who is it?"

"It's Professor Moriarty, James Moriarty, presenting the 'Dynamics of an Asteroid."

As an sign of my lack of knowledge I just shook my head.

"You haven't heard of that event?"

"Not at all, Sir, should I?", I asked and tried to plaster an apologetic expression across my face and smiled a little. But the longer I thought of visiting a lecture right now, the more could I really imagine enjoying myself there. At least I could just let my mind wander and focus on any old subject which a probably even older professor was talking about. I decided to welcome any distraction.

"Well, your scientific area is another one Miss Holmes, but this particular work has already attracted a lot of attention of all our faculties. In fact, Professor Moriarty's work became the most hotly debated scientific paper of our time."

I frowned and searched all my mind, hoped that finally somewhere there would ring a bell at that name. I had been watching so much telly the last weeks, but not a single information really had made its way into my long-term memory. Everything had seemed to be insignificant and at the very best, just letting me pass my days at least doing something better than just hanging around.

The Dean took some steps to the his side table, took an opened book from it and handed it to me. I looked at the cover and it turned out to be that aforementioned piece of scientific masterwork. The corners of my lips twitched at the sight of it, but then I felt that the Dean was watching me closely and I looked up to him again.

"You may have it, Miss Holmes.", he said and nodded towards the book into my hands.

"Oh, no Sir, you don't have to do that."

"I insist. I will anyway queue up in that presumably endless row of people and try to get myself a personally signed copy. I guess most of the guests today aren't the least able to understand a single word that Moriarty had written or come up to his intellect. Therefore you have to inform yourself about him, Miss Holmes."

"He really seems to have a big name.", I said and looked at the book again, turning it around attempting to read the blurb.

"It's indeed a shame that you haven't heard of it. Does this turn out to be first imperfection on your character, already showing up on your first official day as assistant? Miss Holmes, Miss Holmes...", the Dean sneered, but I could see the little rogue that he seemed to be, sparkling in the brightness of his amused gaze. But I didn't want to play along with that phoney pretension to act happy-go-lucky, because I was far too disgruntled and tense. This was mainly because there was that harshly hamstringing mistrust that crept into my mind, caused by my still strong anxiousness and insecurity. Constantly shaking my head, I pressed that book against my chest, slightly and thankfully bowing before the Dean.

"You have to forgive me, Sir. I was very much concerned with other things the past weeks, than reading lurid headlines."

"I may agree with you that such a fuss may be unnecessary, but that man is really a genius. Nothing compared to your father's and your uncle's skills, if you allow me to state that out."

I raised my eyebrows and snickered.

"This time I must decline that, Sir. You'll understand that I have to defend our family's reputation. But you really managed to excite my curiosity."

"Well then, Miss Holmes, let's hurry up, we don't want to miss any minute of the spectacle of science of the year, won't we?", the Dean said and opened the door for me.

"Certainly not, Sir."

The lecture hall was filled to capacity, people were crowding at the entrance doors, eager to get a hold of at least a standing place. The Dean and I were lucky to have some seats reserved especially for members of the University staff in the first row. People were chattering loudly and it was already incredibly hot. I followed the Dean to the reserved seats and was happy to see Pietro, Sally's best friend, sitting there already.

His popularity had quite grown as he was about to do a big job for the Hickman gallery, that's why he presumably had received an invitation for that invent too. As soon as he saw me approaching him, he waved his and invited me to sit down next to him.

I gladly let myself fall into the seat and took a deep breath.

"How's the first day?", Pietro asked and patted my shoulder gently, as I let my bag fall to the floor and put Moriarty's book onto my lap.

"Out of work.", I mumbled, but then the hall grew silent, as the lights went down a little and I saw several men go up to the speaker's desk. The headmaster let his finger tap against the microphone to check the volume, received only a lukewarm applause and then began hold his disappointingly long-winded and boring speech. He told a long rigmarole about the extraordinary success of the new Professor's work and the great honour he did to this University lecturing there. But the tension in the hall was almost tangible. Everyone was curious about the eagerly-awaited Professor to hold his speech.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the highly regarded Professor James Moriarty.", the Headmaster finally stated out and the crowd immediately fell into a rapturous applause, as the said man made his way up to the rostrum and let his gaze wander through the entire hall, amid the applause of the crowd, that he was acknowledged with.

But as soon as I was able to behold the man that was about to hold one of the most anticipated lectures of the year, the welcoming cheers just began to decrease to a background noise in my ears.

I was struck.

I was dreaming, surely.

I blinked several times at the sheer impossible sight in front of me.

That man, dressed in a dark and very fine suit, his hair properly done, with a little

gel applied to it, his face in a deadpan and simple expression, began to smile.

This smile was not what it seemed to be.

I knew that, because I knew that smile. I knew that crooked smirk so very well.

It couldn't have been more absurd.

That man, standing in front of hundreds of people, presenting one of the most intellectual pieces of scientific work of our time, was actually Jim.

Jim.

James.

No matter how often I repeated that name inside my head, it just swirled around with hundreds of question marks in my mind, as if it had been stirred up by a mixer.

My body stiffened in its seat and I gripped the book in my lap so hard, that I knew my knuckles would grow white. I didn't even realize what James Moriarty was actually saying, as he rose his voice to speak, I just heard him. My ears were filled with the softness of his voice that I had grown to know so very well already, but it also carried some tone I'd never heard of him. It was the part that he had hidden from me so very well.

The more I began to watch him, hear him speak to that large audience, speak so very casually and naturally of the most complicated formulae and scientific topics one could ever imagine, the less did I feel that I was sure to know who that man actually was. I was more in the dark than ever before.

I knew his face. I knew his voice. But I didn't know the mind and person that they belonged to.

As much as motionless and captured I was by that sight of James Moriarty, the more restless were my eyes that were constantly searching the look of his.

I had to be sure, I had to ensure myself that my mind and my memories weren't actually fooling me, playing the maddest trick on me that there ever was.

It couldn't be Jim, who was leading so interesting conversation with me, who was talking with me about anything and everything, about the ordinary and the extraordinary.

It couldn't be Jim, who was playing verbal tricks on me, challenging and changing me.

I wasn't able to trust my senses anymore.

James Moriarty had indeed managed to fool me totally.

Minutes passed on and on as I was totally lost in my thoughts, my observing that man whom I remembered so well, that man who nevertheless was totally a stranger to me.

The audience's laughter split the constant oral fluency of James Moriarty's scientific speech. Several slides, pictures and animations of asteroids, equations and tables flickered on the screen, but I wasn't able to comprehend a single bit of what actually was going on.

I was just staring at James Moriarty, constantly trying to blank out the image of Jim that was so vividly before my eyes and trying to understand what actually had been going on. I grabbed the famous book with my sweaty hands and pressed it against my chest, crossing my legs, my body tense and almost trembling and shivering.

I just peered at him, watched him speak, but just saw the movements of his lips, his gestures and his eyes always looking at some point at the back, far away and distant.

But the more the lecture went on, the more absurd did the whole situation and the less confident did I feel. I literally slumped down, sitting there, somehow feeling as if I was the only one sitting there in the hall listening to him. I felt so betrayed, so deceived and confused that I just wanted to leave. I just wanted to run away, just as natural reaction, a reaction that seemed to be so very likely for my behaviour. I felt small and defeated, I did exactly know that I wasn't yet able to understand but predict, that I was just part of a game which James Moriarty had been exactly planning to play with me. And that feeling gave me the creeps. I was pinned to my seat, wished the ground would open and swallow me up. At the same time I wanted to jump onto my feet, run up to that man, slap him hard across the face and bombard him with reproaches and questions.

I didn't know how long I was totally lost in my thoughts and blanking out so very much of my surrounding, but suddenly I felt that the atmosphere in the hall changed. Moriarty received a hurricane of applause and I reckoned that this lecture was slowly coming to an end. I pulled myself together and tried to pay close attention to what James Moriarty was saying as the applause faded away.

"Thank you very much! Following this lecture, I will be book-signing but I will answer some of your remaining questions now. Well, who wants to begin?", James Moriarty said, his head slightly tilted and a broad smile on his lips, "Perhaps you there, Miss, in the front? You've been paying close attention all the time, so there must be some questions already burning on the tip of your tongue!"

James Moriarty raised his arm and pointed at some person in the audience, who were laughing at his casual way in speaking. It could have looked like that person was to be chosen freely, randomly and haphazardly, what it certainly did, but James Moriarty knew exactly where to look at, exactly where to point at and he did even exactly know which effect his words would have on the recipient.

James Moriarty did not hesitate a second when raising his arm and turning around to where I sat. It was almost impossible to overlook that Moriarty had been planning that move all along. I even had the feeling as if a gunshot hit me straight into my chest, where Moriarty's index finger was pointing at.

But James Moriarty seemed to know how to play games. His gaze just rested a few seconds on me before he concentrated his attention on another person. No one would reckon what I would understand from his action, but nevertheless, he had exactly hit the weakest spot that remained on me. He wanted to make me aware of my ignorance and his having the whip hand over me.

I sank even deeper into my seat and even tried to hide behind Pietro's shoulders beside me, but my face was already burning crimson red and I felt my body shiver just because I had been able to look into Jim's face again. Just because he had known exactly where to look at, exactly where I was seated, exactly how to embarrass me the most.

He wanted to show me that he knew I was there and he wanted me to make him see that I was aware of his presence too. But I was not ready to face him yet. I still had to arrange my ideas about James Moriarty. I still had to find out what or whom I was actually dealing with. I still had to recover from what Jim had done to me, caused inside me.

I was so very happy when the whole thing was done and over and the people slowly began to leave the lecture hall. I quickly jumped onto my feet and elbowed my way through the rows of the University staff guests.

"Miss Holmes!"

I felt reluctance to turning around and facing the Dean scorchingly hot burning inside my limbs, but there was no way I could simply walk off without telling anyone.

"Sir!", I called the Dean back and my smile was frozen onto my face.

"What do you say? Wasn't that brilliant? I just spoke with Professor Moriarty. He said he would also love to speak with you as you both have your first day here and can share some unforgettable impressions!"

The Dean's enjoyment rushed over me like a big tsunami, but all I could feel were anxiety and that my worst fears could come true, so I would have to find a way in not having to speak with Moriarty at once. There was no way I would let James Moriarty get away with his obvious plan to offend me as much as he wanted.

"But I will never want to speak with tha- ugh, I mean, I do not want to offend you Sir, nor Professor Moriarty, but I have to go. My father's been calling me, it's an urgent affair, Sir.", I babbled, and I feared that I was too harsh with my first words and got too carried away, as I was almost shouting at the man in front of me, but I couldn't help being angry and excited at the same time.

There was no way I would give into Moriarty's endeavour in letting me make a complete fool out of myself. Now, that I knew what kind of man he obviously seemed to be, I would no longer approach him unprepared. But even at that thought I felt my stomach churn. I had the bad feeling that I could not even rely onto what my eyes had been seeing and me ears had been hearing. Still, Jim or James Moriarty, who that guy ever was, was a mystery to me.

"Hopefully nothing which would prevent you from visiting today's party? Your father can't keep you away from enjoying your well-earned position, Miss Holmes. But as he received an invitation as well, I see no reason for you two refuse it!"

I frowned, but soon after, I found myself holding a letter of invitation to a reception that should be held that evening for James Moriarty and all the University's crème de la crème.

"I hope that we both won't be prevented for any reason, Sir.", I said hastily as I saw in the corner of my eyes that James Moriarty wasn't even far away from us speaking with the headmaster.

"Your father should really make the better of you and give you some freedom, he seems to involve you too much into his business. We all would be very happy to see you today, Miss Holmes.", the Dean said, but I quickly waved him goodbye and scurried away as fast as I could.

I continued to edge my way through the crowd, not looking back, not to the left nor right, just wanted to leave that place, wanted to have some fresh air and be alone. I guess I was one of the first ones approaching the entrance doors and I just ran there, elbowing the quickest way through, bumped into several people, my sight blurring because of a sudden urge to let some tears find their way trailing down my cheeks.

How ridiculous.

I was a grown woman already. I was experienced in some ways, in some ways people could treat each other, I knew the sorts of games people loved to play. I knew the pain of being fooled and treated that way. There was simply now way I could let that stupid scientist influence me that much. Perhaps I was even just one of his experiments, his guinea pig, his puppet that he used as long as he pleased and threw away if it became useless to him.

Suddenly I just bumped into a tall man in front of me, who was just entering the hall, as I was trying to leave it. Our impact was that grave, that I even dropped Moriarty's book and that invitation and I found myself stumbling back until I found my balance again.

"Very sorry. I am very sorry. Here you are.", said the tall man as he quickly bowed down and snatched up my belongings from the floor and handed them to me. He gave me a quick glance of his bright looking eyes through his bunch of dark curls that framed his face and moved on, as much as I hurried to leave that hall.

As I had already taken a few steps outside, I irritatedly looked back at the man who had just returned me the faithful book and only saw his coat fluttering as the door shut close behind his back. I twitched my eyes at the picture I had caught of him the seconds I saw him, his strange coat, his deep and stern voice while apologizing, those dark curls that I caught a glimpse of, which he had been so carefully covering with that strange hat.

I guessed that he didn't even know how much this particular deerstalker attributed a prominent feature to his person.

But that wasn't the main thing that began to provide ample food for thought of why I had been bumping into my uncle, Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes had been at the University, a building which he abominated the most, but that was not everything. Sherlock Holmes was visiting the lecture of James Moriarty.

Well, if that didn't prove that something with Jim had been entirely wrong at all.

There was no other way. This game wasn't even just about me. I feared that this game was played by several other players as well and I still had to discover who they were.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys!**

**Sorry for my delay! I hope you will enjoy this chapter and review to it!**

**Hope you will like the story progress! If you have any suggestions, please leave a comment! If you depict any mistakes, please tell me about them too (I apologise for them in advance)!**

**Greets!**

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YOU DECEIVE ME

_**SEPTEMBER**_

221b Baker Street was far too ordinary for my taste. At least I would have expected my uncle to live in a place far more deserted and miles away from anywhere. But his home actually was situated next to a nice little and well-frequented sandwich bar in a moderately busy street. So much about my belief in Sherlock being quite an unsociable maverick. The most important reason why I had directly come there as soon as I able to make my escape from University, was, that I wanted to check on Sherlock.

I've been asking myself if it really had been Sherlock visiting James Moriarty's lecture. I haven't seen Sherlock for more than two years, but I felt to be quite sure that it really had been Sherlock whom I bumped into.

Basically, Sherlock's doings didn't bother me very much. But my father's strange utterances about Sherlock and his unexpected concern for him made me more than curious.

Of course, that 'coincidence' at the University had caused that sudden urge of taking matters into my own hands.

I had to discover the real James Moriarty. I had to find out what had driven Sherlock to appear at James' lecture. And I had to regain confidence.

I had never been in such a situation, a situation in which I knew that someone had taken the better off me, had taken advantage of me and had left me in the dark, still left me in the dark. I was obliged to lift the veil of darkness, ignorance and insecurity by myself.

Sherlock would have to listen to my story. Sherlock would have to help me.

I breathed deep and approached the entrance door of 221b and knocked against it with the bronze doorknob. Waiting a few minutes, I repeated my knocking and felt nervousness growing inside me.

But if Sherlock had indeed been visiting Moriarty's lecture that day, it was only natural that he wasn't home yet. Perhaps I could count on Dr. Watson, if he hadn't been kidnapped by my father for another neat question time.

Still, that look of Moriarty he gave me earlier directly into my eyes, directly into my mind, sent several chills down my spine and let new questions come up in my mind.

I felt that the whole thing wasn't over yet. It couldn't be the outcome of what I had been worried about for so many months. James Moriarty had still something in stock for me, I knew that. But I would not approach him again unprepared.

I would not give him the advantage of unawareness anymore. He would not be able any longer to fool me about his appearance, his person, as I would gather any information about him. And somehow I had the feeling that Sherlock was my biggest source of information.

"Oh, dear, can I help you out? You look so forlorn."

As I turned around, I found myself facing a nice elder lady, eagerly clutching a paper bag with the label of that close-by sandwich bar, her cheeks burning with crimson red and a broad smile once her face.

"Thank you, madam, but I was just taking a look if someone was home.", I said hastily, as the women raised her eyebrows and huffed after some time.

"You're looking for Sherlock, I suppose? The boys are not at home, actually. I could deliver a message to him if you want to.", the woman said and the longer I looked at her, the more my mind managed to feed me with information about that woman's name. I guessed that she had to be Sherlock's landlady, Mrs Hudson.

"Thank you very much, but that's not necessary. It was no formal visit anyway. Just wanted to know if he's home or not.", I said. I gradually began to be in a tight spot, as I didn't really know what to do. That women's presence increased my nervousness.

Approaching Sherlock could only be the worst idea I ever had. He would have never helped me and it would just have set my father's concern about my safety on fire. Dad would never understand why I had never told him about James Moriarty. And he would not understand why I wouldn't in the near future, until it was necessary and just ask his brother for help. For once in my life, I wanted to arrange my affairs on my own behalf or at least how I wanted to.

Perhaps that was what James Moriarty was even awaiting from me to do. Though I didn't really want to please him in behaving exactly the way he awaited from me, but I had to do things on my own.

I quickly said my goodbyes to Mrs Hudson and made my way home. Anthea was already waiting for me. Waiting was still understated. She was already lurking at the entrance door, ready to fetch me and get me up to my room to lecture me in neglecting my duties on my first day at University. The Dean had been calling in, just to assure that I would be at least attending that night's reception.

"You father already left, Miss! You have to get dressed up quickly and follow him there, before you miss anything!", Anthea said and dragged me into the small bathroom next to my bedroom, snatching away my pocket from me and pulling me towards the shower.

I protested, but gave up in the end.

Honestly, that shower even worked wonders as I imagined to wash away all those bad thoughts I had and just focus on my next steps. If I really was to approach James Moriarty in less than two hours in a polite society, I had to prepare myself not only physically, which meant dressing in my finest gown, but it meant preparing myself mentally as well.

One thing I knew at least for sure.

Jim had indeed been teaching me something very important back then in March. He had been telling the truth in saying that he was by no means ordinary.

I was completely sure about that fact.

But deep inside me, I had always known that there was just a dark and tiny little secret he had been carefully hiding, perhaps not even carefully hiding. Now I really would have to start remembering any detail of every minute I had been spending with Jim. Everything he had said could be important to understand that man even more.

I would not give up yet.

I would find out what was so extraordinary about James Moriarty.

I was barely even able to take my steps into the great hall where the festivities took place. Honestly, my courage had been blown away as soon as I had been entering.

I was so very nervous and regretted not having cared of having someone with me. How much did I wish for a strong arm to leech onto and be able to somehow get over with that party!

I knew it was almost stupid to think about that, but I even would have been happy to depict my father in the crowd and resort to his side to stay there safely. Somehow I wasn't eager anymore being seen by the one for whom those festivities were held.

"For God's sake, please spare me the encounter!", I mumbled as I strode lazily through the crowd, all highly decorated professors, doctors, politicians and all those favoured students who held a similar or at least somewhat similar position that I did.

To say it bluntly, that was just a selected party of all influential, wealthy and highly renowned people who were in close relation to the University. The purpose that they were originally here for, was even not very important. As much as someone might have wanted to praise Moriarty's great work, such formal and also festive receptions mainly had the purpose to maintain relationships between all those powerful.

Nevertheless there were some reporters around, questioning the most famous professors of physics and mathematics, but I knew that there was hardly any man of the scientific press capable of criticizing Moriarty's work. 'The Dynamics of an Asteroid' was entitled by all important scientific organisations and communities to be a unique and almost irrefutable masterpiece of scientific theory and a scholarly piece which ascended rarefied heights of pure mathematics. That's at least what I was able to find out the last hours.

James Moriarty was a genius.

No one would ever deny it and it would take even the most famous thinkers of all time years to understand single sentences of what that man had written down.

I knew I should have just not cared about what was going on inside me, just keep cool and look straightforward, keep an eye on everything that was going on around me. But somehow, I blanked out my surroundings as soon as I began to think about James Moriarty.

I somehow knew that whoever James Moriarty was, the least thing I had to do was being afraid. I must not deny the truth anymore, I had to accept whatever would happen and react to whatever I had to face, whomever I had to face. Moriarty's intellect had been unavoidably recognisable from the very beginning. I should have known that there's something behind that nice and charming mask of a smart man that he pretended to be.

Somehow, deep in my guts, I felt that there was even more that this man hid from everyone. But who would think something else of that genius that he was.

Because I supposed he wasn't even just a genius at all.

All I could think about was how much I had made myself a fool.

Additionally there was a strange feeling that was already hamstringing my limbs and rushing through my veins, the feeling that James Moriarty's eyes were everywhere. I could not stop myself imagining that James Moriarty already knew exactly that I were here, where I was standing, where I was observing, while I was not even aware of his presence. Unfortunately I felt it in my bones that this particular feeling was especially typical for what it meant to be acquainted with James Moriarty.

"Miss Holmes!"

After that sudden outcall of my name I had to face the Dean and the Headmaster, welcoming me with big smiles and kind gestures.

"I am so glad that you're here!", the Dean said, while the Headmaster nodded at me.

"I must thank you to have received an invitation.", I said and hoped that I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. I was wobbly standing on my feet and clutching my bag, desperately trying to scan the whole room out of the corner of my eyes.

"So there would just miss Sherlock Holmes to make the Holmes family complete for today!", the Dean said cheeringly, but I was just frowning at that message he gave me. So father was around here as well. That meant I had to be even more careful. And the second thing very much interesting was, that Sherlock had received an invitation as well.

"Miss Holmes, I have to insist to introduce you to Professor James Moriarty.", the Headmaster suddenly and made a little gesture towards another group of people. And there I saw him, and was so happy that he was standing backwards to me. He was eagerly talking to a very conspicuous but still very attractive woman, who was dressed in a very fine black robe. There were standing few other men too, but I didn't reckon them, as they just reminded me of all those aged and unsociable members of the Diogenes' Club that my father attended so very often.

As I looked at that woman, I somehow felt a bolt of excitement rush through my body and a tiny memory began to itch at the back of my head. I had already seen her, somewhere. Then, she was softly reaching out for Moriarty's arm and her gaze shifted towards the Dean's, the Headmaster's and my direction. James Moriarty turned around and I involuntarily took one step back, somehow trying to hide myself behind the Dean.

But then, James Moriarty was looking directly at me, as well as the woman beside him, and they both raised their glasses of Champaign to greet us.

"Come on, Miss Holmes, let's join Mr. Moriarty and his companion! He has already been asking for you this morning.", the Dean said, but I just shook my head slightly, constantly trying to avoid the glares of James Moriarty.

"I am sorry Sir, but I would like to have a look for my father first.", I said and quickly took some steps away, while both men were staring at me with their eyebrows raised, "Please excuse me.", I stuttered and quickly strode away, wherever my legs were leading me to.

I finally made a halt at the buffet where I was so very lucky to find Pietro and his boyfriend Beppo. Actually I was so happy to see them, that I instantly grabbed the arms of both of them and latched onto them, before they could actually understand what was really going on.

"Sharon, what's going on?", Pietro asked me laughing as he saw the stern expression on my face, which was presumably not the brightest.

"I am just seeking shelter. Just keep me busy and protect me from any other people approaching me.", I said hastily and turned around to one of the waiters and took a glass of Champaign which I emptied at once.

"Is everything alright with you?", Pietro asked worriedly, but Beppo just looked at me as if I were the last person on earth he actually wanted to see.

"Didn't you have it in mind that Pietro and I were actually having a conversation? Didn't you remember than bumping into people is just less than polite?", Beppo just asked with a harsh tone and I looked at him, bewildered.

"Just a conversation you think we had? Just a mere conversation?", Pietro asked and I reckoned that his tone of voice even grew darker and somehow more dangerous as well.

"So how would you call it? How would you call the whole thing? I will just be fine with Punch and Judy show.", Beppo sneered and angrily pushed me away from him, throwing a sharp glance at his boyfriend and walked away angrily.

"Pietro, what is this all about? I am so sorry, I didn't-!", I began to defend myself, but Pietro just tightened his grasp around my arm and looked down to me with his brown eyes, glistened with sadness and hurt.

Had I ever mentioned that I was not that good at helping other people with their problems? I had just failed in listening to Sally's sad stories and I was now about to fail in even finding a somehow acceptable excuse to apologize to Pietro.

"It's okay, Sharon. There's a lot Beppo and I are already disputing about for weeks and I fear we won't be able to solve those things in the near future.", Pietro said and gave me a sad smile, "But enough of that! What's is this you were talking about earlier?"

"I am just avoiding unpleasing encounters with people I am not ready to face.", I mumbled, but I just felt silly and childish.

"Like that person who is steadily coming up to us?", Pietro asked and smiled wickedly at my eyes widening as I saw Moriarty slowly walking towards us. His eyes were constantly resting on me and his face empty of any emotion.

I couldn't stay. I couldn't.

I just left Pietro were I was, mumbled a silly excuse and quickly ran to the toilets, while I felt Moriarty's gaze burning into my back, burning holes inside my body, haunting me.

As soon as the door of the women's restroom shut close behind me, I took a deep breath.

My confidence had left me for once and for all, if I ever had some. I looked up into the mirror.

I had picked out my best dress I had. I had done my curly hair the best I could and put up makeup which I never used in my normal life. I had constantly reminded me of just acting natural, cool minded and even stern enough to face James Moriarty.

All of that was just a sham. I had been trying to act as if I were a mostly confident and self-assured woman, ready to face the mystery man James Moriarty.

"I know he is waiting for you."

I almost jumped at that few words that someone whispered directly into my ear. I looked up and beheld that woman who was with Moriarty this evening. She wore a very naughty and unsettling guileful smirk on her appealing expression and she definitely had some interesting assets which she was aware of and likely to use a lot with everyone she wanted to come close. Somehow I knew that she was indeed someone as much as mysterious as James Moriarty was.

"Pardon me, Miss, but would you be so kind to tell me to whom I am actually speaking?"

"You really should beware using this way too phoney and formal speech style, young lady. It definitely decreases your charmingly innocent but prepossessing appearance.", she answered and rose her glass of Champaign to her crimson lips, while genuinely letting her gaze rest on my face, which must have shown her a most blank and bewildered look.

I slowly gulped. The woman answered my gaze with another amused and curious smirk.

I took some steps back, but slowly I was regaining my confidence. Actually, there was nothing to fear, nor anything to lose. She had to take her necessary step first. I would no longer let someone treat me as if I were a little girl. I was a grown woman and irrespectively of my viridity and inexperience regarding some specific topics, I should by no means act out shyly and cowardly. But she had been dominating that conversation since the very first syllable she had been uttering and that made me even slightly angry.

"It seems that Professor Moriarty told you about me, Miss- ?", I surrendered and she gave me an affectionate smile as she turned around to look at her mirror image as a whole.

"It's Miss Irene Adler. Moriarty's words left by no means any doubt about him being very much interested in you and your concerns, Miss Holmes."

"Well, if you say so, Miss Adler, I must say that such an indicated interest in myself can only be a sagging or dwindling one.", I said, but her words had indeed stirred something inside me. What was she actually talking about? What did she know about what had been happening in March?

"Are you concerned about that? If you do, he has already done great work on you."

Great work? How the hell was I to understand that? A bad feeling grew inside my stomach. There was still too much I did not know and understand for my taste.

"I suppose that you, Miss Adler, would perfectly understand me if I told you that also a woman's interest can alter, even within a mere second.", I said and wondered where my sudden confidence was coming from.

"Ah, you are right Miss Holmes. But you, on the other hand, will have to agree with me that a woman can have everything she wants, if she only knows how to pull the strings and knows what people like."

"And what would be your liking, Miss Adler?", I asked and didn't even try to hide my conspicuous undertone, while I watched her painting over her lips with that intensely red lipstick.

"I may tell you in privacy.", she said and threw a provocative glance at me while looking into the mirror.

"A face-to-face conversation does already imply a lot of privacy, especially nowadays, don't you think?"

Something about that woman reminded me so very much of Jim. Perhaps it was just the way she was speaking to me, looking at me or provoking me with her answers. Or it was just the fact that I was aware that she knew more than I did.

"Just let me tell you that you are not obliged to just abide his acts of impudence. James Moriarty loves to play and he loves to oppose people at an eye level. But for that, he hardly finds anyone who meets his criteria."

Well, if that didn't sound like the Jim I had got to know. I even took some steps further to Miss Adler, while she was putting her lipstick back into her bag.

"I suppose you sufficed for that position?", I asked, but Irene Adler turned around, having a blank expression on her face.

"On the contrary, Miss Holmes, I am just one of his, let's say, fellow members."

"So you successfully bore his jokes?", I asked, but Irene Adler just suppressed her laughter.

She came up to me closely and bowed her head slightly, to be able to just whisper into my ears:

"Nice to call his actions stale jokes, Miss Holmes. You really still have to learn where to exaggerate and understate things and where to say the plain truth."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just want to tell you Miss Holmes that I am one of those lucky ones who survived James Moriarty's jokes."

And with that she just gave me a significant but nevertheless unreadable look and left the restroom without saying anything more. I was frozen to the spot, because something told me that Irene Adler meant ever word she said. And an even more unsettling feeling made me sure, that every single word had been true.

The most intimidating question that then remained, was, what Miss Irene Adler could have actually survived. Because I feared that it was nothing like any joke at all.

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	9. Chapter 9

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* * *

YOU KNOW ME

_**SEPTEMBER**_

I hastily rummaged around in my pocket and picked out my phone, looking up Dr. Watson's well notorious blog. It was now the first occasion to start reading that famous web-diary. To be completely honest, I wasn't calm enough to dive into the stories of "Hatman and Robin". Even if I knew Sherlock's whims, everything that Sherlock was quoted by his flatmate to have said or described to have done, was extraordinarily weird. There was no way I could believe that this man, who didn't even consider the earth running around the sun being an important information, was actually my uncle.

I was just randomly flipping through Watson's posts, when I first came up onto James Moriarty's name. Was I surprised? Perhaps, I couldn't really say. My body was shaking like a leaf.

The letters of the text that I read became blurred before my eyes, the more the information began to sink in. Everything could just not be truth, though logic and obviousness of the coherences between all what has happened struck me right away. I had to realize that even the notorious Professor James Moriarty did not seem to be the person who he pretended to be at University. Somehow I had even to admit that this outcome was in fact no surprise.

I dared to say that I knew Jim, I knew his way of speaking, his way of acting, even if he had been playing that act perfectly. But just because I knew that, I was easy to believe that he could show off several times without anyone ever being able to decipher the real Jim Moriarty behind all those characters.

But with Watson's blog, everything slowly made sense.

James Moriarty was really not ordinary man at all

James Moriarty was a criminal mastermind.

And he challenged the notorious detective Sherlock Holmes.

That's why he had been after me. And I would bet my life that he was that particular man whom my father had been telling me about. Mycroft's description of a man, who showed so many different faces in public but one explicit face to Sherlock Holmes, which presumably was the one being the most original and real one, matched exactly on that James Moriarty, who was described by John Watson. And it matched to James Moriarty of whom I thought to be real, but of whom I wasn't really sure to have ever met.

James Moriarty used everyone he wanted to achieve what he wanted. James Moriarty had killed several people.

James Moriarty had even been close to killing John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Why the hell had everything of that not crossed my mind earlier? Why hadn't I been reading Watson's blog as soon as it became famous, as soon as everyone was making a fuzz about my dear uncle's deduction-skills?

Everything was just too much for me.

James Moriarty couldn't be the one I've got to know last February.

James Moriarty couldn't be the one who had begun to change my life rapidly, who had been leaving such a big mark in my mind.

But as hard as it was, everything matched so perfectly. Everything was so obvious too. Even that didn't sound as strange for James Moriarty as I would have expected it. James Moriarty was, according to Watson's blog, accustomed to working hidden behind secret walls, using henchmen doing the dirty work and just pulling the strings.

But this time he seemed to put all his heart into his personal mission and he had already sent several messages to all of those people who were involved with the one person he was aiming at. James Moriarty did not bother to deceive those who weren't even worthy of being betrayed. He did not bother to betray those whom he wanted to destroy, whom he wanted to know exactly who had been the one destroying them.

James Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock.

The strange thing was, I wasn't afraid at all. Not because I knew I was presumably just playing a little part in that game of those two masterminds. Not because I knew that Sherlock Holmes was capable of defending himself against James Moriarty.

Because I doubted that Moriarty was still interested in me regarding Sherlock. Moriarty had obviously been sounding me out and tracing me to get information, but had to realise that there was not much to find.

Jim had left back then.

But James Moriarty has come back.

Which was the one thing, that I wasn't really able to relate to what had presumably been his business with me. Why would James Moriarty be eager to approach me again, that is, asking for me? So could I be really sure that James Moriarty was done and over with me? Or what did his appearance at the University mean at all? Or was James Moriarty just trying to catch Sherlock's attention in several different ways? Did he want to tell them anything by acting out as some kind of ordinary contemporary?

Even now, even after all what I had been finding out, experiencing and not already understanding at all, I was still captured by the person James Moriarty himself. I could not even think of the word extraordinary anymore without having his face in mind.

James Moriarty must have known that he would have that effect on me. So why did he so eagerly want to see me, want to speak to me again? Why did he not even try to keep it secret anymore that he wanted to be acquainted with the niece of Sherlock Holmes?

People must have read about James Moriarty in Watson's blog, as famous as it was. They should understand what person actually was standing here in that University, just holding lectures and being hailed as one of the greatest scientists of our time. Were people actually denying the truth and just pretending to be happy-go-lucky?

But I thought that's what it was. James Moriarty had never been acting in public as that criminal mastermind that Sherlock and Watson had been reporting about. Still, James Moriarty was pulling the strings in the dark.

I rubbed with my left hand over my face, wiping away some small tears that had been filling my eyes. I took the few steps to the washbasin, having a look at me in the mirror.

Shock and agitation were writ large in my pale face, but my cheeks were reddened and small beads of sweat were covering my forehead. I took out a hankie and somehow tried to arrange myself, sniffling and suspiring, until I somehow felt calm again.

What to say?

But it seemed that there were no secrets anymore. I knew James' position, his intentions, or at least they somehow were a bit clearer to me. I knew who I was and knew that I could just try to keep my countenance.

I could no longer run away from him, I had to face him, I had to listen to what he was eager to give me a message about. Even if it was most likely that it wouldn't even be a message for me at all. I had to muster my courage and cockiness and just be.

The longer I thought of the whole thing, the more did I realise that James Moriarty had not even really been hiding himself from me. He had been completely honest with everything he had said. Just as I had learned it from Anthea, it was really the best thing to hide something in plain sight. Even when Jim had been disappearing back then, it even mustn't have been for that mistake he had made. But I could not imagine anymore that him taking me home without me ever telling him where I had been living and therefore causing mistrust and revealing his disguise, was a mistake at all. Everything had been on purpose, even that 'mistake'.

I smoothed down the fabric of my dress, tousled my hair and prepared to return to the party.

Pietro was still standing at the buffet, but to my utter astonishment having a conversation with James Moriarty. After all, they knew each other as Jim had been there at Pietro's party.

Judging by the relaxed expression on Pietro's face, that encounter was rather nice. But that was only natural. Even I could already say that James Moriarty could indeed be more than charming.

Slowly, I moved step after step forward, trying to keep my shallow breaths calm and low, plastering a neutral expression on my face and keeping cool.

As soon as both men reckoned me returning to them, Pietro made his leave, throwing a questioning but somehow also an amused look at me.

But I had just eyes for the other man, who wore a calm smile on his face, his content gaze resting on me. I just clasped my hands tightly around my bag and looked at him, slowly coming to a halt.

I had never, not in my wildest dreams thought to see him again.

Jim.

Somehow the information that I had been gathering during this day, had not fully been sinking in. Still, it seemed to be unreal, the figure of James Moriarty standing in front of me. He was real, tangible, recognisable with all my senses.

But there was no way anymore for me being able to read him, if I had ever been.

The two of us didn't say a word. No one of us even changed our pitch of breathing, neither altering our facial expressions nor just making little movements to indicate that we were considering or desiring to raise our voice.

Moriarty then took two glasses of Champaign and held one out to me to make me clinking them with him. I hesitantly came up to his wish and took a small sip out of my glass. It was, as if we celebrated some sort of reunion.

Honestly, I was tongue tied. There was nothing I could say. My anger about his disappearance was long gone, as well as my embarrassment about my naive behaviour and most importantly, my fear of really having been fallen into a trap. All that remained, was curiosity. I did want to know what was the matter with James Moriarty.

"You are constantly giving me the feeling that you are running away from me.", James began and I felt several chills running down my spine, as I heard that voice, that soft Irish accent, so familiar and yet so different.

"I just don't want to oppose you without any armour.", I said, not even trying to beat around the bush.

"Do you think you will need some?", Jim asked, smirking.

"I don't trust you."

"I knew I would run the risk to lose you.", Jim sneered, sucking in the air deeply through his teeth.

"You've never won me.", I grumbled, but I just saw James' eyes resting on me, an impish glint inside those dark orbs.

"Have I not?"

I looked aside and took another sip out of my glass.

"I know you must be awaiting my apology, Sharon. But there's nothing I had ever been apologizing for real."

"I thought you are someone who can very well play a role... So perhaps you could even pretend to be apologizing? That would at least facilitate the beginning of this conversation.", I said and looked up to him again, while James shifted his weight from one foot to another and huffed.

"Well, I may try for your sake, dear Sharon.", he said and I waited as long as he needed to take his breath theatrically.

"Don't overstrain yourself, _Jim_.", I groaned, instantly pressed my lips together tightly, but James was already smiling from one ear to the other.

"Did I ever tell you that I like that string of sounds escaping your lips?"

"Well, from now on I will not ever let it roll over my lips again. For my own sake, of course.", I said and really regretted it having him called by his nickname. It gave away so much of me, even that I wasn't the least coping with the situation. I felt his gaze upon me everywhere, as if he saw right through me, but also right into my mind, into my heart.

"Sharon..."

"Still trying to apologize?"

That attempt was even more than desperate and feeble, but I had at least to try to oppose him somehow.

"You give yourself away in the most blatant way that I would have never even expected. You are still angry with me and I can see those thousand questions swirling around in your mind.", Jim said and clicked his tongue, crossing his legs leisurely and slipping his free hand into his pockets.

"It would be no use asking a you a single one anyway.", I mumbled, emptying my glass. Slowly I felt a bit merry, but that little tipsiness luckily increased my confidence.

"I may answer you. But under the condition that you chose the only one that I would be pleased to answer you.", Moriarty said and his smirk grew wider.

"I hate riddles and I have a feeling that I hate especially yours.", I pouted.

"This is no riddle, Sharon. I never lied in telling you that you simply have to look at things as they are, delve deep into them, see the obvious and blank out the unnecessary."

Moriarty's voice sharpened a little, while his gaze became darker and darker, even somehow demanding.

"I am in no mood for any deductions."

"Well, that's a pity. I would have loved to see if you improved in all those weeks. Even after having three magnificent teachers."

"Neither my father nor Sherlock would love to teach me. So who's the third one?", I asked, frowning.

"Oh I see. You really are in a foul mood today, even overlooking more than the obvious. Really lame. I thought I even once taught you the most important thing that there is to teach you about myself.", James huffed, rolled his eyes and looked away, pretending to be very disappointed. But somehow in his eyes, that were constantly resting on a point far away, I could even see that he _was_ slightly disappointed. Well, he probably was just was bored as I didn't come up to his expectations.

"You're wrong, Mr. Moriarty. I won't see you as my Professor.", I said, struggling to get his full attention back. I was quite bedazzled to reckon, that James acted exactly the same way he did when I had met him before. So he had indeed told the truth. He had never lied to me, nor pretended to be someone else than James Moriarty. I had just not been seeing through.

"You are hurting my pride, Sharon. And I am leaving the 'dear' out this time.", Jim said and but his eyes still gave me a severe look.

"I thought I could read you. Just a little. A little would have been enough."

"And now I finally made you seeing me?", James asked, suddenly somehow a little more attentive than before.

"No, it's worse. I see Professor James Moriarty. James Moriarty himself is supposedly someone entirely different. But I am not quite sure if I would like the sight of the real one.", I concluded, but somehow wasn't even sure of what I said myself.

"Why do you think I am not myself now?"

"Do you really have to ask that? I thought it was _you_ of the two of us, who remembers our encounters dearly."

"Do you have some vague idea how the real James Moriarty looks like?", Jim asked and straightened himself up.

"I guess, actually, he's standing right in front of me. But what is inside that counts."

"Am I understanding that you already solved my little riddle?"

"I did, because I believe one statement you were making today. It just makes sense to everything I know about you so far."

"I never lied.", Jim nodded approvingly.

"I detest to recognise that this could only mean that I am obliged to believe you.", I stated contritely.

"You are the one pretending here. You are in no foul mood.", Moriarty said, gave me a little amused smile of his.

"At least someone has to recognise what you are trying to accomplish. You are still trying to live up to your special day when you can trump anyone, or at least _the_ one."

"Very clever Sharon. At least our encounter in March taught you to be more careful. Do you think you are going to make the same mistake again?", James asked and gave me a broad smirk, rubbing his hands.

But I just stared at him. Mistake? So that meant that James Moriarty still had something in stock for me, or at least that I was still of use to him. And it meant that he wasn't even denying what was actually happening, he actually confirmed what I had secretly been addressing. Between James Moriarty and I, there had to be still some unfinished business.

"Perhaps."

"So you will let James Moriarty get close again?", Moriarty leaned closer, that I could feel his breath tickling on the skin of my temple.

"If I encounter the James Moriarty I want to find, perhaps I will.", I simply said.

"So what's going to be your strategy?"

"I know that it's the best way to hide something in plain sight, if people are believing you are hiding your secrets in the most difficult and deceitful way. There's someone who already taught me that and believe it, it was not you that time.", I answered, giving my thanks to Anthea in secret, that she had from time to time been telling me about such things.

"Very good, dear Sharon. So you are able to think the simple way as well. The kinship of your's lacks that ability, I fear."

"Are you trying to sneer at me?"

"I would never dare to do it obviously.", Jim mumbled and his gaze wandered off and he took a sharp breath, straightening himself up and smoothing his suit. "Well, there comes the Iceman, ready to cool down our nice conversation."

I turned around to look at the person Moriarty was paying attention to and the glass in my sweaty fingers almost slipped through. My nervousness increased to an unimagined height as I had to find my father approaching us.

"Professor Moriarty.", my father said, not even looking away from James Moriarty to give me a look that would have at least shown me that he knew I were there too. He was fixated on the man in front of him.

"Mr. Holmes, I am so very pleased to meet you! Finally we can face each other in real life!", Moriarty cheered and held out his hand to let my father shake it long and well.

I just looked at them, more than bewildered, but even more than confirmed in all my conclusions that I had drawn so far. My father knew James Moriarty already, wasn't that a fancy outcome! Honestly, I thought that after what I had already been experiencing today, nothing could ever irritate me anymore.

"Well, Professor, the real life is far more thrilling isn't it?"

"You and I should really know.", James smiled crookedly and even took a step closer to my side, that we all began to stand in a nice triangle, "What do you think of my newest book?"

"Impressive indeed. That 'masterpiece' dominates the headlines and is definitely about to surpass the stories about my brother Sherlock's cases in being the subject of conversation number one."

"I guess with that late success of his, your dear brother shouldn't be that busy anymore. Rather kept busy in a much more stimulating way, I suppose.", Moriarty snickered and my father pressed his lips together that there was just a fine thin line left. He had to be more than offended, but honestly I was never more interested in witnessing a conversation like that before.

"Perhaps this time it will be of a great advantage to my brother not being tempted by several things that some, even you Professor Moriarty, might perceive as one of the biggest pleasures that men can experience.", my father said and Moriarty just huffed. Letting his gaze wander off again and rest on Irene Adler, who stood not that far away from us, looking at us with a most curious expression.

"Such a shame. He definitely does not know what a man could be missing."

At those words I suddenly felt a bolt of heat rush through my veins, as I saw Moriarty's gaze resting on that woman's figure.

"However, I noticed that uproar which your masterpiece caused, does not yet really interfere with all of your business. There are few people being able to cope with that public interest in themselves when they are already engaged in more important issues.", my father said, looking at that woman as well most aversely and that caught my attention even more. Did my father hint at that 'consulting criminal' business that Dr. Watson had been reporting about being the real business of James Moriarty?

Had even that woman, Irene Adler, something to do with it, or was she just with Moriarty?

I clenched my fists. That 'just' didn't please me at all.

"Just between the two of us, Mr Holmes: Which man of our kind has not ever striven to make all eyes being focused on himself, of attracting the world's entire attention when he is about to achieve everything he had been longing for?"

"I'd prefer to work in peace and quiet, Mr. Moriarty."

"So do I, Mr. Holmes. But I have to say since I have changed my way of working even just a little, I must say that this is a shame. Working that way must be so tiring."

"That lies in the eyes of the beholder."

"Speak of the devil, Mr Holmes, I really have to compliment you having such a nice daughter. Don't you think that Miss Holmes looks very adorable tonight? I guess she never ever looked more beautiful."

I was struck by that sudden attention that both men were paying at me. It was not even that compliment, if Moriarty even meant it as compliment at all, that was so very surprising to me. It was what was hidden so carefully inside that notion. That message stirred me up so much that I could already feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment and my head aching with fear. My father would be very well able to understand what that meant. Officially, or at least officially to my dad, I had never ever met James Moriarty before that evening. But now Moriarty had given him a clue that we both had already known each other before.

I looked down to the ground and didn't even know what to say.

"I can understand that a man like you, does worship such women like my daughter, just if I consider whom you are usually together with.", Mycroft said, once more looking at Irene Adler. Moriarty smirked and nodded slightly and I just stared at my father, not believing what he had actually said.

"Well, I was happy to meet you two tonight. Now, if you will excuse me, I think Miss Adler is eagerly awaiting me to take her home.", Moriarty said, bowed slightly before my father and then turned around to me. I swallowed hard.

"Good night, Miss Holmes."

"Good night, _Professor_."

That even stole a little smirk of his lips, before he turned around and left, arm in arm with Irene Adler.

But I was not yet able to take a calm breath, as my heart was still bumping hard in my chest and my body tense from head to toe. I knew that evening wasn't yet over for me.

My father turned around to me, his lips still a thin line, a sign which showed me that he was not pleased at all. On the contrary, he looked as if he wanted to ram his umbrella right through my left foot just out of immense ire.

But it was even worse. His voice was too quiet and too calm.

"Have you ever met such an extraordinary man before?"

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	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry guys, I am so very late... But I really have some problems with the storyline, which are not that easy to be solved actually - apart from totally being covered up in so many other things to do for University :(**

**Hope you'll still stick with me and give me some encouragement to go on, thus I would love to have some comments ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Greets, peerme**

* * *

YOU INCITE ME

_**SEPTEMBER**_

"Have you ever met such an extraordinary man before?", my dad asked, following Moriarty's every movement as he left the hall. I just looked to the ground, my pulse still high because of the immense tension that had built up inside me.

What the hell had I actually been witnessing between my father and Moriarty just now?

"Yes, I have. I have to admit I am still shocked to see how many but intimidating and intriguing features and treats they share, that I fear I can hardly tell them apart.", I mumbled and looked onto my hands, still tightly grabbing my bag.

"Who would that be?"

"Sherlock.", I answered, which was the truth, but not the only truth at a closer sight. Jim had been the disguise that Moriarty had been using back in March. But the more I thought of it, the more did it sink in that Moriarty had indeed never pretended to be someone else than himself. I knew Jim and I knew Sherlock and therefore the more did I realise how much they were alike. I had already thought of Sherlock and James being so very alike back then when I had met Jim for the first time. But now I knew it for sure.

That's why Moriarty had been challenging Sherlock. I was quite sure that James would never tolerate any other person who was the same as him, and even worse for him, perhaps even more smart, more vulpine and extraordinary.

"You might not be right, Sharon. James Moriarty is as far not that sort of an annoying know-it-all."

"I could not agree to that.", I said and only gained a very observing glance of my father. "I think James Moriarty does not really appear to show off as much as Sherlock does. He knows then to not be himself and hide his true side. He seemed to be very calm tonight, in spite of all the fuzz about his work."

I took a deep breath. I had to be so very careful talking to my dad, but I was eager to draw some information about Moriarty out of my dad too. I had to know what he actually wanted to do at the University or to do at all. But I knew now wasn't just the right occasion. My father was too careful and curious himself right now.

"That work isn't really the thing Moriarty cares about the most.", Mycroft said.

"What do you know of him?", I asked shyly and tried to avoid the strong gaze of my father. Mycroft breathed in long and deep.

"He's some sort of a man.", he answered and took a step closer to me, offering his hand to me, "But what do you think?"

"He seems to be brilliant. He's already made his name.", I answered and let myself being led by my father around in the hall, constantly and slowly approaching the exit. I just knew what my father intended. Father was no fool, he was even as skilled as my uncle in deduction. He knew that I had had no regular and ordinary small-talk conversation with the new Professor James Moriarty. I knew my father could read my every facial expression, my every posture and gesture. " But dad, you seem to know him for quite some time..."

I would not give into my anxiety of what I could reveal to my father. I felt the grip around my arm tighten a little. But I just breathed calm and deep, not to show my father how nervous I actually was when talking about James Moriarty and his regards.

"Our paths did cross several times already.", Mycroft said and there was this nasty little undertone, which told me that he was secretly tracing me.

"Already?", I asked and just kept to walk faster, because I thought leaving that place would make things easier. I would endure every lecture Mycroft presumably wanted to give me, but not here, not at a place where I knew that Moriarty's eyes could be anywhere, his unavoidably intense gaze chasing me into every corner of the place.

"He loves to keep in touch."

"Does he?"

I immediately felt my pulse rise, as I spit that answer out too heatedly, too surprised and with that peculiar high pitch of my voice, that displayed my utter tenseness. James Moriarty loved to keep in touch? Well, if I didn't now a very contrary side of Moriarty. Father stood still at an instant and looked me with a very suspicious expression.

"He seems to have left an impression on you, Sharon, for you have just known him that shortly. ", Mycroft said and his voice grew even lower than low, which was a very bad sign.

"It's a life changing impression indeed, dad. He has a mostly captivating character.", said with a kiddingly whimsical smile on my face, trying to make it appear to my dad, that I was just naively kidding about James Moriarty. I knew it was a lame attempt to fool my dad, but all of a sudden, all the strength and mental I power I usually was able to muster when approaching James Moriarty, was gone when facing my dad.

I would just follow Anthea's advice anyway. Hide some little lies inside a cobweb of well true facts. Perhaps it was the best to somehow tell my dad the truth about Moriarty, but leave out some little important matters.

"Indeed.", Mycroft said shortly, while calling us a taxi.

I've never been more glad to enter our house at Pall Mall and just let the door to my room shut close behind my back and enjoy the comfort of tranquillity and loneliness.

I sat down onto my bed, so very happy that I just got off lightly and my father did not ask me out that much. Well, yet he shouldn't have that much evidence to suspect a little dirty nasty secret of mine.

But I had plenty evidence for another thing. I would search any source of information about James Moriarty that I could get. I would not ever encounter that man again without knowing at least a little more of him.

I dared to say that James Moriarty wasn't exactly my enemy.

But he was someone who had challenged my uncle to a duel to their ultimate limits of skills, which I knew was the purpose of the whole thing. Even I could say that James Moriarty was no one who did things by halves. If he really wanted to destroy Sherlock, he would do it entirely. And he would plan everything through to the very tiniest detail one could think. And who knew, maybe I was some of those tiny details as well.

That's why I had to be on alert every single minute.

I lay down on my bed and looked up to the ceiling.

Honestly, being on alert did not bother me at all.

It was indeed thrilling. So very thrilling that it caused pleasurably chills running down my spine and my body tense of anticipation.

Perhaps that was the change in my life that I had wanted. It already had started earlier, but now it began to head for the climax. I would be the one helping to pin James Moriarty to the ground, I would strive to follow Sherlock's and Moriarty's every move they made in their game. And I would not just be one of the chess-pieces that those mastermind-players would push around to their liking. I wanted to be the judge, or at least one of the forces between them. I wanted to watch them act.

I breathed deep another time.

He'd come back.

James Moriarty had come back.

I would not let him slip away again. He was most intriguing and frightening, keeping me on the edge of my tempers and on the edge of my self-control. I did not want to miss his little riddles again and would learn to love them. I did not want to just know him as he was presenting himself again and again, using disguises for every situation he needed. I did want to know him entirely, his every secret, his every dark bit of his past, and his every even darker moments that were still laying ahead in the future.

The thing was, that James Moriarty had fuelled my curiosity.

James Moriarty was about to guide my spirit to something which I was still obliged to discover. And I bet that was the challenge that James Moriarty had already been confronting me with. But for now, I would stay in the behind and gather information, watch the two rivals act and struggle.

My phone rang with a little quite nastily disturbing sound. It was a text message.

_I know exactly what you are doing now._

I didn't know that number and there was no signature. Could it be? Could I really dare to think that he wrote me? Where did he get my number from? Well, that would be easy-peasy for someone like James Moriarty, I suppose.

_**And what would that be?**_I answered and felt my fingers tremble while typing the letters.

_Typing. And thinking._

_**About what?**_

_Me._

_**Stupid**__._

_No. Ordinary._

So what was that supposed to mean? Was Moriarty already mocking my weakness, innocence and greenness with matters that regarded people like him? Was he once more trying to fool me?

_**What do you expect me to do?**_

_Participate._

Was he actually asking me to act? Was he actually asking me to search him out? He had to know that I would just try to track him down. Perhaps he wanted me to do it. Or did he just invite me to play? He would not do it if there were nothing behind it, would he? No advantage would not interest him.

But the question was, if I didn't act at all, what would happen then?

This was James Moriarty, the one who had already played so many nasty tricks on me, who had already been fascinating me so much that I would do not even care that he might take me to my limits, just for the fun it would provide. He knew how to work on me.

The thing was, that he gave me some feeling of security. There was nothing to lose at all. Why then not give into the full awareness that I was exactly doing what Moriarty wanted me to do? Why not play along with his whims, why not dance to his piping?

He would be disappointed anyway, however I would react, it would not surprise him. Moriarty was already too familiar with my person that he could underestimate me, apart from his natural intelligence and sense of deduction of course. Whatever I did, it would be boring and ordinary to him anyway.

So that just meant, I had nothing to lose.

So I would do it then.

I would join in into the game.

"Pietro called me earlier, it was incredible as he told me that you have met him again!", Sally said, sitting behind me and trying to somehow comb and tame my curly hair. "I wish I could have met him there too..."

I was just sitting lazily on her bed in her small room in her flat-sharing community, drawing circles onto the bedcovers and picked a paper napkin into small pieces.

"Whom?", I asked and flipped several scraps of paper over the edge of the bedframe.

There was a long pause, as Sally sat down beneath me, huffed and grabbed my hand to make me stop covering the floor with all those paper shavings.

"Jim of course.", Sally said and rubbed her thumb over my hand. I quickly pulled it away from her and crossed my arms. Well, I spontaneously had left home for a little flying visit at Sally's, because I thought she would just ease my mind and distract me from every bad thought I had. But it appeared that the news of Jim, who had visited Pietro's birthday party in March and now turned out to be the new ensnared professor, already did its rounds.

"You have to tell me everything! I cannot believe that he didn't tell us he is a professor! He has fooled us all completely. What was he like?"

I just pressed my lips together and nodded, while Sally was again grabbing my arm out of excitement.

"You already know him, Sally.", I said lazily, but then a thought came into my mind. "Did Pietro tell you what he and Moriarty have been talking about?"

Sally frowned, but I sat up straight a little more. It would indeed be interesting how James would have explained his acting and disappearance to someone who was not involved in the burn-Sherlock-Holmes-thing at all.

"Pietro just told me that he had had a nice conversation with him. Jim just explained to him that he wanted to have some fun and get to know the students so that he would have a better insight into the system of teaching at this University."

I smirked. What a lame excuse, that just sounded lousy. Even I had better excuses about why I was so very interested in Moriarty. I even tolerated Sally thinking of my relation to Jim in whatever way she wanted to.

"Well, Moriarty may have had some fun."

"But you still do not see some fun it right? And why are you calling him Moriarty? He's still Jim, isn't he? He's still the person that we got to know, right?", Sally looked at me with glassy eyes, that I knew what she was dreaming about. Even after so many months, Sally was still not over her friend Pietro. Her feelings for him were still running deep and not ever letting her hope die to finally have him for herself.

I just shrugged and Sally suddenly shook her head.

"But you lucky one at least saw Jim again! I still cannot believe that he just had been fooling us all last spring and just disappeared into thin air!", Sally chanted, but I knew she was just trying to cover up her urge of having a good cry on my shoulder. But the sad thing was, I needed one of those too. Even more than she did.

Perhaps that was even a good opportunity to change the subject of our conversation.

"Beppo and Pietro were quarrelling tonight. Is everything alright with them?", I asked, but Sally's expression grew even more sad and somehow even a little satisfied.

"Pietro called me because of that in the first place. You know I can't stand always being the trash bin for his problems, especially when they regard his relation to Beppo.", Sally said, but I just patted her shoulder.

"Is it really that bad between them?"

Sally stopped herself from saying something and just swallowed hard. I knew what she wanted to say. I knew she was hopeful that the relation between Beppo and Pietro would go into pieces. But I knew she loved Pietro too much as she wanted him to be unhappy.

"Beppo had always been such a funny person, but he was just gruesome and despicable the last weeks... He's just angry about something, which Pietro doesn't really want to tell me about But he suffers, Sharon, and it's so very hard for me to watch him suffer because of Beppo's doings. I just hate Beppo for doing this. I really sometimes wish he was gone forever."

Sally's voice carried so much hatred. So much hatred which I had never expected from her, as the happy nature and cheerful person she always was. Sally really must have had such a hard time, watching her beloved to be so very unhappy in his relationship, while she herself had just the unthankful position of just being the 'best friend'.

"So tell me, what about you? Are you still suffering? You never really told me what was happening between Jim and you.", Sally asked me and wiped away some tears of her doe eyes.

Suffering?

I felt an itch inside my chest, as I knew exactly what she was playing at, but I was still denying it and would be as long as I could. I knew I had been hurt, back then in March, but as soon as I had understood that Jim was no one to have feelings for, I had just been suppressing any denying any emotion at all.

"So what's your feeling towards Jim?", Sally asked again, but I just remained silent for a while.

"There are no feelings that can be connected with Jim Moriarty, not even disdain and hatred.", I finally answered. There was nothing to feel about that criminal maniac at all. Nothing which I should allow myself to feel, as long as it would hurt me sooner or later.

To be completely honest, I didn't even dare to think about James Moriarty at all. And if I had any feelings in my relation to James Moriarty, they just were closely bound to the thrill of mockery, flattery and unspoken dark secrets.

"What about desire?"

"Desires can be satisfied in many different ways.", I said, shivers running down my spine as I just thought back to that fateful night when he had been taking me back home. He had made me, back then, really take him for serious about him being interested in me, coming close to me and making me aware that I was interested in him. Sure, he had been mocking me again tonight, but that was just James Moriarty. James Moriarty's every word could be synonymous to lie and betrayal.

"But the question is whom of you both will be satisfied first."

"Who says that I want anything from him? He's a professor, remember?"

"Everyone could have seen that he likes something about you. At least, Pietro and I did."

"Well, then look closer Sally and you'll see that there's nothing at all.", I said and crossed my legs as well, curling me up to preserve my warmth from within. Somehow I began to feel cold, in spite of my core burning with unexplored feelings.

"But you do want to know him closer, don't you? I can tell it from the look in your eyes.", Sally whispered and now it was her time to rub my back.

"He's a professor.", I said, my thoughts trailing off, but I knew Sally would not let go.

"And what a hell of a professor he is.", Sally said, and suddenly held my copy of 'Dynamics of an Asteroid' in her hands, examining the title closely. I wanted to grab it from her, but she just turned away and looked at the obligatory biography of the author at the back of the book.

"_James Moriarty comes from a good home and has two brothers, one being a military and the other a stationmaster. Moriarty already showed an extraordinary talent for mathematics at a very young age and wrote his first mathematical essay at the young age of 21. This essay about the binomial theorem caused a sensation in all of Europe and made him immediately gain his first professorship._ Well, doesn't that sound good? And mysterious in some way.", Sally giggled, but I just shrugged my shoulders again. Quite a nice past as long as he used his talents just for being an extraordinary brainiac.

I grabbed the book away from Sally and looked at it, opened up the first page. There was a personal dedication written inside. It was not really the first strange dedication that I every read in a book, but it was definitely one which I had never seen before:

_TO ME._

Fame was apparently not satisfying for James Moriarty. He was just looking for some challenge, the ultimate challenge that would stretch him to his limits. Perhaps that's what it was all about. James Moriarty knew no limits and he finally found Sherlock with whom he could define them.

And it was itching inside my heart and head that I once more and finally had to realise that James Moriarty did not hide himself at all. If people just knew him, knew who he really was, everything became so clear, so very truthful and pure. James Moriarty may have worked in the behind, hidden in the dark and as the leader of several criminal master plans, but he was honest. He was so very honest and he did not hide that he himself wanted to just get challenged, distracted and perhaps even defeated.

I would gladly watch him dance.

I would gladly participate into that great game of his as long as I witnessed his rise and victory, or his fall and his defeat.

And whoever of those two, Sherlock or James, would lose or win, I knew one thing for sure: No matter what person James really was, how cruel and criminal, heartless and cold-hearted; no matter what a bad example of an uncle and an unsociable dick Sherlock had been, I would mourn both their victory and defeat.

It didn't matter who would win and who would lose.

Because those two were alike, so very much alike that they belonged together like day and night, fire and water, sun and the moon.

I would join them. I would join him. If he really wanted me to do it, I would be the girl who plays with fire and enjoys being burned by it.

I was ready.

Let the games begin.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys!**

**Thanks for that review, I was very happy to get one!**

**Additionally, I have a new chapter for you and hope you'll like it.**

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**Greets, peerme**

* * *

YOU TEST ME

_**OCTOBER**__  
_"Miss Adler is not residing here anymore, I fear, due to some nasty happenings of the last couple of hours. But you may come in for some tea, Miss.", the woman said, introducing herself as Kate, Irene Adler's maid. Her scornful smile was plastered all over her face and she somehow strangely leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms in front of her chest. It even appeared to me slightly, that she was swaying, almost not able to keep her balance right.

I shook my head eagerly and took one step back.

I somehow never had luck when trying to approach people at their homes. But perhaps taking my first step in seeking out Irene Adler to ask her for more detailed information about James Moriarty hadn't been the very best first step at all. But things were already decided for me. I would not hide and just act clandestinely. I would stick by my honesty and just do what I considered to be the best. Ok, perhaps not totally, as I would always try to keep my father in the dark. In the darkest dark that's ever possible.

"That's very kind thanks, but no thanks.", I said and was half on my way leaving, as the maid took one wobbly step outside of Irene Adler's residence at Eaton Place, her hand still supportive in grabbing the doorframe. What was wrong with that person? It almost looked like she had been drugged before.

"You're very young Miss. I did not think that someone so very young could already strive to have some acquaintances like Miss Adler.", she said and gave me a very crooked smile, which I just acknowledged with a little shrug. I have seen Miss Adler's especially extravagant homepage and her offerings, but all of that didn't really impress me in the least. Besides, my only interest and curiosity for her concerns regarded her relation to James Moriarty. But as far as I could deduce, I may even put her into the customer position. I was quite sure that she had already needed Moriarty's services. And a very painful knot inside my stomach represented the little confusing hope that Moriarty had not ever requested Irene Adler's services in return.

"She's not my acquaintance. More like a means to an end, to say it most frankly and bluntly.", I answered with a sneering tone and enjoyed the view of the maid raising her eyebrows at my comment.

"I am a hell used to such ways of saying things, Miss Holmes. But what is it then, that you have been seeking her out for?"

"As I said, I may only talk to her privately about the matters."

"I may deliver any message to Miss Adler if you want me to. After all, it is my job to be in service."

I rolled with my eyes and did not really make the effort to hide it from her. Whatever position she might hold, I abominated that exaggerated way of speaking. That wasn't even fun anymore, nor irony or the attempt to make me reveal anything of importance to her.

That was just boring.

"I think leaving a message for her wouldn't be necessary, as you will tell her anyways, that I have been here. If Miss Adler does indeed accept me to meet her, she will come up to me after all."

"I adore your confidence about that.", Kate said and I slightly bowed my head to her. Well, If she really wanted it to have it her way, I would at least once give it to her.

"Since Miss Adler has been offering her services to me, I dare so."

"Well then, Miss Holmes, I will report your visit to Miss Adler.", the maid snickered.

And perhaps you will tell a hell of other people if the payment is right, I thought, carefully taking my steps down to the street. I looked up and down the street with a very strange feeling being hooked up inside me and being a heavy weight on my shoulders. I believed that Kate had been telling the truth that Irene Adler wasn't at her place that time, but I just felt that I was watched. I always had the feeling that someone was watching my every single step. But since I presumed to know whose doing it was, it wasn't such a bad feeling anymore. I would just not care. James Moriarty could think of me whatever he wanted.

I knew my place and with every additional minute I was living with my steadily increasing knowledge about James Moriarty, I felt more confident.

There was nothing I would fear of him.

But I had to be careful, as long as that feeling was resting inside my head and slowly digging its way deep into my mind. I had to find out if I was right after all and who was really watching me. It could be everyone, Miss Adler, James Moriarty, even my dad. But still, I was just fine. Nothing had happened so far and that would give me security. My consciousness was still clear and I had a clean slate.

And somehow I felt that I should really take care that it was a bulletproof vest as well.

Irene Adler might not have been the best source of information I could chose, as it was only natural that I would play into Moriarty's hands by approaching her, but I had no choice. There would be hardly any chance for me to get information about Moriarty from Sherlock or my father. I could not just go to them and ask them out about Jim Moriarty.

Irene Adler was still the best choice.

But perhaps I would just play into her hands as well. As far as I managed to deduce from her homepage and how disdainfully my father had watched her that other evening, I knew that she was not the kind of woman to be usually trifled with. I knew whatever it was, she would have something against me the moment I would personally see her again. Even if it was just the little tiny news about me having dealt with her and about me having already dealt with James Moriarty. Even that little thing would cause me problems with my family and would let nasty but avoidable questions rise up.

But no risk without fun.

My driver was still waiting for me.

Anthea had been on her way to take my father to 221B Baker Street, as he had something to discuss with my uncle, perhaps about the last job he that Sherlock was asked to do. Father's weird and nervous behaviour have told me that he was actually very concerned about several state affairs and it was only obvious that he had asked Sherlock for some help. But honestly, I didn't really want to know what strange business they were having.

At least is was none of those funny rendezvous my father had with Doctor Watson, where Mycroft always tried to drain the poor man for information about my uncle's business.

I had really considered approaching Sherlock again, but now, I was even more sure that approaching Sherlock or being caught by my dad while digging for information about Jim Moriarty would have several severe consequences for me. At the very best some damn nasty interrogations and questions.

Additionally, I didn't really want to face Sherlock at the moment.

Sherlock would read everything from me, as I would be a open book to him things, he would instantly see things which I wasn't yet able to understand, realize and think about. I knew that Sherlock would just hold the mirror in front of my face and I would not like the face I would have to behold.

As long as I was not really aware of everything that was going on around me, I could not face my inner thoughts and theories. It would be better just to let my core burn nicely and quietly, with everything just closed up inside my heart until the fire would slack and I would just need little effort to extinguish it. Better leave unpleasant things buried and hidden.

"Take me to the Diogenes Club.", I said, entering the car and sitting down at the back seat, the driver turning around to me irritatedly. "And don't approach it directly, just drive around here somewhere for quite a while."

The driver cleared his throat and started the engine.

"Where to, did you say, Miss Holmes? Doggedness?"

I huffed. Not another funny idiot.

"I want you to take me to the Diogenes Club, I have to see my father."

"And why the detour if it's just down the street?"

"I don't want my father to know where we I am coming from. I don't want him to watch my every step I take, if you know what I mean.", I grumbled and the driver just made a short noise, that sounded very much like "Doggedness indeed", but I refused to be responsive to him. I hoped he would not tell anyone where he had been taking me to today.

The Diogenes club was just a horrible place. For my father, it had become a third home I suppose, apart from his office and the house at Pall Mall, but the latter one he was definitely visiting the least. Mycroft only travelled between those three places and to calm down and rest from a exhausting working day he used to sit at a warm fire at Diogenes' on a daily basis from exactly 16:45 to 19:20. Well, he was always on time, my dear father and he abolished anything which disturbed his beloved time table.

Generally, the Diogenes club's members were the most unsociable and oddest men in town, whereas the average age of all those men was about 65 or something. It was a place where important members of important groups of people could go and read or have some tea or do whatever they want without any distraction.

As such, the number one rule was that there was no talking, no one really looking at the other and no one ever concerning who was actually in the same room as him, there should just prevail absolute dead silence. If you asked me, the 'dead' described the place quite well. Apart from all those strange aging club members who already stood with one foot in their grave, they retained that number one rule of silence to a point where club members could even be excluded for coughing.

I was quite happy that the porter just let me pass and I immediately made my way to my father's personal room at Diogenes'. Under several conditions I would have considered that little additional office of my father being quite nice and neat, but I just hated the whole house. That my father was one of the co-founders of the club, made it even worse.

But as I had already grown used to being lonely all the time while my father preferred to enjoy a nice little pipe with best tobacco, a nice cup of tea and sticky sweet cupcakes at Diogenes', rather than having a nice conversation at the Dinner table with his daughter, I didn't really care about his doings anyway.

To my utter surprise, I found my father's room empty. I looked down onto my wristwatch. Almost 6 pm. My father was late, very late for his liking. What the hell had been happening with Sherlock and him today, that he let it even frustrate his time table?

I went up to his desk and had a look at all those documents lying around. But my father was no lazy person. He would never leave important documents behind and somewhere lying on a table. I knew it was no use searching for information in here, but I really didn't know what to do else.

I rummaged through those countless letters, all marked with the sign of the Royal Palace, but those just had been invitations for some tea party at the Queen's. There were hundreds of old newspaper articles and little pieces of paper, with some meaningless notes on them. I grabbed a bunch of newspaper articles that were stitched together and I found myself reading several headlines regarding the newly solved cases by Sherlock Holmes.

Well, if someone hadn't another unexpected fan.

I threw the bunch away and grabbed the next one. Then, my heart jumped at another headline. But this was in no ways regarding my uncle. Or perhaps it was.

_Mastermind hits top of bestseller list!_

Well, I think that headline said it all. My father had collected several newspaper articles about James Moriarty. Even those, which just contained the usual mindless gossip. That, in fact, was very interesting. Apparently, my father was observing James Moriarty.

For whatever reason my father had been encircling the name of the journalist, who had written almost every single highly charged story about James Moriarty. And as I looked back at the articles about Sherlock, I saw that name appear there as well.

Kitty Riley.

That name even itched at the back of my head. I knew that woman. Because all of Sherlock's great assistance to the police, he's been a lot in the papers, along with his flatmate, pal, friend or whatsoever Dr. Watson.

I knew that father would have tried to keep rumours and even volatile issues away from the press to not make the crowd panic. But some of those journalists were exceptionally nasty, clever and did not fear any consequences, as long as they were able to get hold of the latest most shocking news. One of those people was Kitty Riley, as I already knew her from some interviews that she even tried to have with my father. She once almost revealed a story about very secret matters regarding the Royal Family, but father was able to bribe her not revealing it.

I knew that no journalist who was striving to write the story of her life would accept such money and be content with it. But that had been long ago and Kitty had been young. She had been in the baby shoes of her career and she had needed the money my father had given her, which was even more than she could have got selling that particular story.

Kitty Riley had made herself not a very famous name over the years, but I knew her really big story was still lying ahead of her. And apparently she had chosen her topics quite well. In fact, she wrote about the two most heatedly debated and gossiped men in Great Britain.

If there wasn't someone on the verge to success.

Perhaps she was the one I would need to contact now. But I knew that would be even worse than contacting Irene Adler. Irene Adler would leave me be as long as I was no threat to her or did not provide anything useful for her. But Riley would stick to my heels and track me down for any tiny little bit of information about Sherlock that she could get.

Once I would try to take the honey out of the nest, I would awake the whole tribe of bees. And I knew there would be no pond nearby to jump in. Trying to rescue myself would just be like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, because the only one being able to stop that woman would be my dad.

I had to smile. Or even someone else.

_Dear Jim, could you fix it for me...?_

But that thought was now no funny joke anymore. It would make myself nothing better than James Moriarty, or anyone criminal in this world. It sent several shivers down my spine thinking about that. I was thinking just freely about life and death as if they just were nothing.

James Moriarty was treating life and death as if they just were nothing.

If James Moriarty really was that sort of consulting criminal who would never refrain from doing whatever was needed to achieve what he wanted, he still remained someone very dangerous, but even ordinary.

And that was just the basic criminal stuff. James Moriarty being a unreadable mastermind didn't do any better.

Because I wanted to know if he would, for his own sake, even judge his own as equally unimportant as all those which he had already taken, if it was all about achieving what someone wanted. What would Moriarty sacrifice to defeat Sherlock?

I sighed deeply.

Then, my phone rang. One look at the name that was shown at the display made my body tense in some places and shiver in others. Thought of the devil.

"Calling to lecture me?", I asked, my voice showing too much of my discomfort and excitement.

"_ Irene Adler? Sharon, I am so disappointed in you. But at least you did something.",_ Jim said and I even could imagine his facial expression of mockery.

I let myself fall into father's chair and leaned back, crossing my legs.

"She ought to be my number one source of information. But I didn't see her anyway."

_"I promise you I will always be around when you'll come to see me."_

"As long as I am not prepared, I am never going to see you."

"_You should follow my invitation and come to my office to have a nice chat with me."_

"What should we have to talk about?"

_"I've told you I will answer you one particular question of you make it out. Well, I thought you would be quicker in considering your position."_

"There's no position I am in at all, but I won't just sit around and watch you both. I will watch you, but I do want to contribute something at last."

_"So whom will you contribute? Whom will you choose?"_

I remained silent. I didn't really understand what he wanted from me. He wanted me to participate, but did he really want to express that he wanted me on his side? Which advantage could he have of me? Why that effort in dealing with me?

"You do not need me. I was and will never be of use to you. That's why you left back then.", I said and it was slipping over my tongue before I could really stop it. I didn't want to say something like that. I really didn't. It showed too much of what was going on inside me.

I was unsecure, because somehow it just didn't get into my mind that I was just having a chatter with presumably one of the most dangerous criminals of our time. That I had been really, even for a just and very short blink of time, considering to accept his invitation.

That I was just entering fields which I didn't know, which I presumably shouldn't even step onto, because with every step I could step into a booby-trap.

"_You should come into my office."_

"So why did you approach me at all? Didn't you already know that through me, you could never gain information about my uncle? And why did you leave me with just the awareness that I was being fooled and just stepped right into your trap and had been falling for your disguise? Did you enjoy the thought of how it would leave me behind, how much it would damage me mentally, physically, just inside of me?"

I breathed short and hard, my chest raising and falling, sweat covered my hands and the phone almost slipped from my grasp. I couldn't help myself. I just had to say it out loud. I had always wanted to say it, ask it. I knew it was one of the biggest mistakes I could ever make, as it displayed my weaknesses so very well. And the most dangerous weakness of mine, still, even after all those months and after he already had easily depicted it, was Jim Moriarty himself.

I wanted to know him.

I wanted what drove him to his actions. That could not just be the search of distraction, excitement and thrill. I wanted to know him, but I didn't dare to oppose him.

I was lost, so weak and so very defeated.

And that, was the biggest question of all. What had he wanted to achieve with this? He must have known what effect his whole act would have on me. That it at first, would slowly start to change me from inside to a level, where I would no longer be able to see what was right and what was wrong. Was I close to hit that spot? Was I close to being totally controllable by whomever had influence on me? Was that James Moriarty's purpose? Brainwash me and just use me as a puppet to his liking?

_"You should come into my office."_

His voice was a lot quieter now, but I could feel the amusement and pleasure within it.

"You did not forget me, though I was no use for you. Why?", I asked, but I knew that I would receive no answer. And the thing was, that my behaviour was not only a disappointment for myself, I knew it was a disappointment for Moriarty too. I shouldn't have let my temper win over me, reveal my weaknesses and what I was so eagerly thinking about.

But that was still the difference between Moriarty and I. I was ordinary.

_"You should come into my office."_, James already said for the third time and I wasn't even annoyed by it. I didn't deserve better, it was my own fault. If James would tell me directly how much he was disappointed for my uncontrolled outbreak, it wouldn't have had any effect on me, wouldn't have unsettled me that much and not have caused so much pain.

But the fact, that he didn't react at all, made it so very clear for me, how terribly I had been letting myself go.

"I won't come.", I mumbled, almost even shyly.

_"You will come up to me some day. You'll have no choice."_

I swallowed hard.

I knew he spoke the truth, but I knew it was too early for both of us even thinking about the truth. I would go on and strive for achieving knowledge, to prepare myself facing him and what I would do then, was still laying ahead. It didn't matter on which side I would stay, I would be there as equal as everyone involved would be.

Today's taught me a lot.

And it taught me that there was just one big mistake I could make, the one mistake that everyone, even Sherlock and Jim could make, the one which would destroy us totally.

Therefore I would try to not do it, rather _be_ it respectively.

I would never again be myself.

"_Come into my office_."

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	12. Chapter 12

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YOU SUSPECT ME

_**NOVEMBER**_

By all what had happened the past weeks, by all what could happen the next ones, one could say that my every moment which I lived would be tense, enthralling and demanding. Things indeed were different than before. But things did not change. That was the great problem, the big thing that did not seem to fit into my picture of the whole case that I had expected.

Things kept to be the same, I was not able to move an inch further, not able to make my own step towards Jim Moriarty or towards any direction at least. I was stuck, I was bound to my position and there was nothing I could do.

Irene Adler did not seem to be concerned at all that I had been trying to approach her and I haven't heard anything of her since. Kitty Riley was still no good idea to ask for information.

All I had fairly been able to do was sneak into my father's office and read some files about Jim Moriarty, but they turned out to be nothing more than a record of all his criminal doings of the past months. The only pattern I had been able to depict showed that every single case was solved and therefore every single act was prevented from succeeding by my dear uncle Sherlock Holmes. So all of that only underlined Moriarty's hatred and disdain for my uncle and the reason for Moriarty challenging him.

I was desperate. I even refused to take any further steps, as if I expected something to happen. But could I really expect Jim Moriarty presenting me information on a silver plate?

Well, my discomfort was my own fault. Perhaps with all my doings (or better said non-doings) I managed to have left my wonderful future behind me.

James Moriarty was nevertheless doing his best to attract my attention. On a regular basis, he invited me into his office. I received at least two text messages a day, always at the same time, always the same simple sentence.

_Come to my office_.

He had even approached me at University several times, but I always refused him. I was not ready yet, even after those weeks of undecidedness, despair and eagerness to move forward.

My stage of inactivity only triggered a state of continuity without any changes, actions, anything that happened at all, I was imprisoned within a perpetuum mobile. Did that mean, if I really decided to stay out of everything, nothing would happen to me at all?

But was that what I really wanted? Did I really want to let him go?

I was happy that my ordinary life continued to catch my attention from times to times. Pietro was close to have his work for the Hickman gallery finished and would be exhibiting his extraordinary sculptures and pottery the next days. Pietro has even already sold some of his works and I was one of those being happy to have achieved one as well. The Hickman gallery had an interesting program indeed, as after Pietro's exhibition would follow the exhibition of the famous Reichenbach-falls. Just in a few days the exhibition would open and I looked forward to visiting it.

"Hey, wake up!"

Sally's sharp voice made me cringe. I shook my head to shoo all my thoughts away and tried to listen to our Professor again, but there was no way I could escape the flood of thoughts that clouded my mind.

"Aren't we going to leave?", Sally asked, packed her things and stood up.

I was even more startled and closed my notebook, not having written down a single word. I even missed the end of class. Perhaps I had spent all my day sitting in that lecture hall and thinking about life and it's mess.

Sally was on pins and needles, as we would visit Pietro in the pottery room of the University, keeping him company while we would watch him finishing his last sculptures for the exhibition. Sally was looking forward to having a nice chat with her best friend, mainly because Beppo would not be around.

But Beppo was not the only one Pietro tended to quarrel with the last times. Sally had not been able to hide her bad feelings and her anger about Beppo anymore. The relation between Pietro and her was taut, because she clung to him even more than before, trying to convince him secretly from her assets and desperately trying to win him over. She was desperate indeed, because Pietro was like a stone wall to all her attempts.

I think the only reason he hadn't already sent her and her friendship packing, was him indeed not being very happy anymore in his relationship with Beppo. And therefore he was happy about the comfort of his friend's compassion, even if it was not the most comforting one and the not one he could have really needed.

Sally and I walked down the corridor and while all other students strode towards the exit to finally enjoy their Friday's evening and weekend-opening. But I was still stuck here with Sally and her best friend who wasn't able to cope with most of his relationships.

"Miss Holmes!"

My shoulders slouched at the sound of that awfully beguiling voice, but my heart beat even faster than how I began to increase my pace. But Sally, that traitor, grabbed my shoulder and forced me to turn around and face James Moriarty, heading right to us. I clasped my hand around my bag and avoided his gaze. I still could not stand it. I still didn't know where that confidence came from, when I had met and spoke to him at the University party. Because now, I just felt weak, nervous, naive, like a little schoolgirl facing her Professor.

"Professor.", Sally said and bestowed him with one of her enchanting smiles, which he assiduously ignored, just facing me, while I seemed to suddenly be very interested in the shady grey colouring of the corridor walls.

"I'll go ahead.", Sally said, giving me a little punch into my ribs and happily walked down the corridor that led to the pottery rooms.

What did Moriarty do here anyway? Why was he so very often in the University? Why would someone like him even endeavour to pretend living a normal life like any other person did? Wasn't that just boring to him? It would be a waste of time for him, wouldn't it?

Well, I could even guess it wouldn't. He had enough henchmen who did his bidding without batting an eye and he was able to not make his hands dirty.

"Are you free today, Miss Holmes?", he asked, smiling broadly from one ear to the other, his eyes glistening with mockery, but also with a hint of impatience. But what was he expecting from me? Accepting him ordering me around? Finally accepting his invitation?

"Sorry, Sir, I am afraid not. I am meeting Pietro Venucci."

"People can be prevented for any reason.", James said and suddenly grabbed my hand, pulling me towards him that eagerly, that some other students jerked to a halt to watch us irritatedly and curiously. From the corner of my eyes I could even see the Dean standing there and watching us. Great. Another person who I really didn't want to meet at all.

"I by myself tend to hold my word, Professor.", I hissed and tried to free myself from his tight grasp, but his grip was to firm and his dark gaze petrifying me. Something told me that he was even more than impatient, something told me that he was intrigued, something pleased him so much, that it irritated me even more than his move towards me.

"I am not saying that only you could be prevented today, Miss Holmes.", Moriarty whispered, pulling me even closer, grabbing my shoulder and he was so very close to my ear that I shivered because of his breath tickling on my skin. "Everything could happen."

"I have to refuse. Excuse me.", I stumbled, breaking free from his grasp, throwing a glance at the Dean, feeling my cheeks flush for no reason. The Dean frowned, but nodded at me with a greeting gesture of his hand, while I just rebalanced myself, looking to the ground to hide me suddenly blushing face. Then I looked at Moriarty again.

And he was furious.

I knew he was furious. On the outside he was calm, just standing there, wringing his hands and pouting, tilting his head as he saw the Dean coming closer, who had a most irritated facial expression. But I knew I was close to testing Moriarty's patience with me. Perhaps I wasn't safe at all, perhaps he had just given me some time to find my place, but now it would be over. He wanted my decision.

"What a shame.", he sneered and crossed his arms.

But then, I heard it.

We all heard it.

It was the most ear-shattering but at the same time stirring scream I'd ever heard. It was filled with fear, despair and dread. It touched my heart with an instant and sent several shivers through my body, but mainly chills of bad foreboding.

I began to run, hurrying down the corridor, as well as some other people, not even looking back at Moriarty.

I ran for my friend, who screamed on and on, her cries getting weaker and weaker, heard her sobbing on and on, as if the world was coming to an end.

I spurted around the corner and approached the pottery room, pushing the door open.

I instantly wanted to run away again, turn around and leave everything behind.

But I was rooted to the spot, my body tensing stiff at the sight in front of me.

Red.

Blood-red.

Everything was covered red.

And Sally was in the middle of it, kneeling right in the middle of a puddle of crimson red blood, Beppo kneeling beside her, both staring down at the body which lay in front of them.

That could simply not be true.

I forced myself to take some steps further, my shoes making a weird noise as they touched the sticky blood on the floor.

Pietro.

Pietro didn't move.

He had a big wound in his chest, his face was pale, white, his eyes just staring into the air, lifeless, with no light, with no usual zest for life mirrored in them. Sally constantly stroke his hair, sobbed uncontrolledly, her arms around the corpse, pressing it hard against her chest.

Beppo just knelt there, looking down on his hands, covered with Pietro's blood, grabbing his boyfriend's shirt as if it was the only thing he could hold onto right now.

Pietro was dead.

Everything went cold inside me.

How could that be?

Who did this?

I stumbled back, until I bumped against the wall and slid down to the floor. Other people were entering the room too, running around hysterically, were shouting and screaming, some were already pulling out their phones and called the police. Others were standing there just for the fright and thrill of getting a nice picture of that horrible scene. But all that rushed past me, as I was just looking at that corpse lying in front of me.

A murder.

A bloodshed in University, right in front of our eyes and the victim was one of my friends.

I breathed hard and deep, pearls of sweat covering my forehead, my body trembling heavily, but I somehow managed to crawl forward and get onto my wobbly feet.

"Sally...", I said with a husky, quivery voice, but it was clear she could not hear me at all. She just screamed her heart and soul out, screamed so hard that her voice began to fade away, her chest rose and I could see that she would soon faint if she kept on whining like that.

"Sally.", I repeated, grabbing her shoulders carefully, but she just turned around, pushed me away, hit every spot on my body she could find to make me leave her alone. But then two other guys came to my aid and dragged her away from the body, while I just backed away, still staring at that horrible sight in front of me.

There were shards of broken pottery works on covering the floor, even one window was smashed and the blood, the blood was everywhere.

I didn't know how much time passed until the police arrived. Sally was brought to hospital as she was suffering from her shock, not ceasing to cry, scream and flail whenever someone tried to console her.

Beppo was just sitting in a corner of the room, constantly babbling incoherent things of something about a burglar, a break-in, the broken window and him discovering Pietro lying dead in the pottery room.

But I could not blame anyone. I was even less able to catch a clear thought.

The moment Pietro's body was taken away and the forensic people began to search for clues in the room, I just realized what had happened. Pietro would never return. Pietro would never again invite me to a nice birthday party at his father's restaurant. Pietro would never speak to me again. Pietro would never do some great pieces of art.

Even if I'd not known him so very well, even if everything we had had in common was our friendship to Sally and even if we had just shared some small and insignificant conversations, his death was a loss. His death hurt me so much.

I just watched all those people of the police shooing people around, keeping nastily curious students away from the crime scene.

Then, I saw one particular person leaning casually against one of the corridor walls, watching all those people roaming around. I bet nothing would have missed until he would just raise his hand and have a good yawn. He looked right into my direction, suddenly wearing a very sly and amused smile on his face.

Everyone must see that boredom, that languidness on him.

Everyone must have the ability to see it, but all people in this area had other things to do than observing whoever was standing around and having a good look at a real crime scene.

James Moriarty wasn't concerned at all.

James Moriarty wasn't concerned and shocked and touched somewhat ever of that murder, because he had already seem death several times. Moriarty was used to crime, blood and death. He knew death and he had already killed.

And I saw nothing but joy and excitement in his face.

He was happy.

He was cheering this nice juicy murder.

James must have read the shock in my eyes and he rose his arm and lightly touched his cheek, slightly stroking down with just his fingertips, letting his gaze rest on mine. I unconsciously but also if I wanted to trace his touch on my own cheek, raised my own hand to my cheek and instantly felt it.

I looked down on my fingertips.

Blood

There was blood on my face.

Tears began to run down my cheeks, as I finally reached the edge of my composure and willpower. Pictures of Pietro's dead body and pictures of Moriarty's content, cheerful smile whirled around in my head. I sobbed several times, kept to rub the blanket that had been put around my shoulders against my cheek, to wipe off the blood that mingled with my hot tears.

When I looked up, Jim was gone.

Realisation just came to me slowly.

It had been James Moriarty.

James Moriarty killed Pietro.

I had been wrong.

He would not idle away his time with me.

He sent me a warning. I was into the whole story as well. If I would not act, he would go on and murder my people, murder everyone I loved and liked, everyone who was somehow close to me.

I was completely sure that this murder was Moriarty's doing.

Which was something I had always disavowed.

Now, my eyes were opened.

I had not really known whom I had been dealing with.

I had not really known what death meant, what death was, when someone like Moriarty was controlling it, making it his personal tool. But I feared that death was not the most gruesome thing that Moriarty tended to use with people he wanted to see burn. I knew that, because it was just the first step he had been taking. This little death of someone not so very close to me would just be the beginning.

I had to do his bidding, not matter what it cost. I had to do what he wanted me to do.

Finally, I pulled the blanket off my shoulders and stood up. Slowly, I took the few steps to the investigating Inspector, still eagerly wiping my cheeks to make those traces of blood disappear.

"Miss, please step back!", Lestrade began, as he turned around, but I just walked further, watching him with a deadpan expression. He rose his eyebrows as he recognised me.

"Miss Holmes!"

"Inspector.", I said, but there was no time for exchanging expressions of sympathies. I knew Inspector Lestrade for long. He was the one who constantly kept asking my uncle for help in any case the police weren't able to solve, which regarded most of their cases.

"Horrible thing, isn't it?", the Inspector asked, pursing his lips and I nodded slowly.

"He was my friend."

"Oh, I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Holmes."

I just nodded at him.

"I want to contribute something, Inspector."

"There's no need to. It's been a break-in, obviously. The young man was just unlucky to be in the room and surprised by the burglar.", Lestrade told me and put a hand on my shoulders ,"But you really should go home and get some rest."

I shook my head.

"I want to stay, Sir. Are you really sure it had been a break-in? What's missing?"

Lestrade sighed deeply, but I pressed my lips together and clenched my fists. I had to remain strong. I had to do something. I had to prove that it was James Moriarty who had killed Pietro, or at least one of his henchmen.

"Please Miss Holmes, leave that work to the professionals."

"That obviously means that you are going to consult Sherlock.", I concluded and did not even try to hide my mocking undertone.

"Sherlock won't be needed here. This case is already solved. 'tis bad case, but a simple one."

"So you will search for that thief and murderer of Pietro?"

Lestrade just looked at me for some time and then turned away, without saying another word. But I was not yet finished with that whole thing.

I did well pretend to leave the place as Inspector Lestrade had asked me to do, but I did stop at the corner of the corridor to listen to one of the officers giving orders to each other.

I was happy to eavesdrop their conversation and find out where Pietro's body had been taken to be autopsied.

It didn't take me long to get to Bart's hospital and find my way down to the morgue. At least for once my father's contacts, position and therefore his name proved to be useful for me.

Even I could just pretend to act on my father's orders.

The woman having performed the post-mortem examination on Pietro's corpse was a particular Doctor Hooper. I've heard her name already, as she was the one mostly being responsible for the autopsies of Inspector Lestrade's and also my father's cases.

I was waiting in some sort of foyer, a room which was also used for family members or friends having the possibility to finally say goodbye to their deceased.

After some time a woman entered it, which I instantly presumed to be Dr. Hooper. She wore a shyly flattering smile on her face, while her wrinkled forehead seemed to display some sympathy and comfort, which she was prepared to give to everyone who needed it when visiting that horrible place. Her movements where unsteady and instinctively and she always kept pursing or pressing her lips tightly together, while she came up to me.

"Is it you who asked for me?"

I nodded and refrained from shaking hands with her, as I somehow wasn't able to touch a single inch of her. As she noticed that she instantly put her hands into the pockets of her coat, as she felt that unease that radiated from me. But death surrounded her. Even her neat, innocent and totally mousey appearance did not diminish that impression.

"I am Sharon Holmes.", I said and was somehow very irritated about her reaction, as her eyes grew wider and wider as she looked at me with keen interest, "I've come to ask you about the young man who had been stabbed and just been brought here."

Dr. Hooper seemed to be struggling for some words, something had entirely made her lose her train of thought. Perhaps that was a good advantage for me as I could worm even more information out of her.

"Please," I continued almost mercilessly, as Miss Hooper began to curl one long strand of her hair, which was tightly bond in a ponytail, around her index-finger, "My father has sent me here to get some information about that case."

"Who is your father?", she suddenly bolted out and I saw her instantly biting her lips. What a strange person. But I guess everyone who was somehow involved with my family had been extraordinarily strange at all.

"Mycroft Holmes of course. Sherlock would be far too young to have me as his daughter, wouldn't he?", I asked to test her out, but it just caused what I even had expected as she even seemed to lose her focus even more. She cleared her throat.

"The victim has been stabbed four times with a blunt object. Maybe even a blunt knife. He also head a laceration on the back of his head. Those wounds have caused an imminent and heavy loss of blood. So he may have had a quick death.", she said, wrinkling her nose and nervously fondling with that strand of her hair.

"How long has he been dead already?"

"He must have been detected soon after his death, so only less than twelve hours."

So was it even as simple as Inspector Lestrade said it had been? But I could not believe that Moriarty had nothing to do with it. Somehow I couldn't get it off my mind that he was even closer linked to that death than I even thought. I couldn't even be sure if he hadn't been the one knifing Pietro. Why would Moriarty then have been in the arts department, especially near the pottery rooms? But would Moriarty really be the one bearing the knife?

"Molly!"

We both looked into the direction where that call came from. But then I quickly looked back at the woman in front of me. _Molly_. Haven't I heard that name already?

Somehow once told me about a woman named Molly.

"Sorry, but I have to go now.", Molly Hooper said with a little smile and shyly, almost hesitantly stretched out her hand to shortly touch my arm and then walk off.

I looked after her, rubbing the spot where she had touched me. Didn't that turn out well. No one ever asked me if I had the permission to snoop around and gather information which I normally would not get.

But something in my heart told me that I should really remember that name Molly Hooper. Something when hearing that name made my heart flutter and my throat burn. It made my cheeks flush crimson red and my fists clench with annoyance.

But there was yet not the time to find out why.

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	13. Chapter 13

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YOU OFFEND ME

_**NOVEMBER**_

I perched myself on the small stairs that led to the entrance door of 221B and drew up my knees to embrace them tightly with my arms. An icy wind came up and I wished I were able to at least wait inside the house for the great Sherlock Holmes arriving at home. But no reward without suffering.

There was not very much I had been able to find out about Pietro's murder yet. I was not able to get more information about the case, even not through my father, with whom I even talked openly about the murder. I told him that I had by no means been convinced that there had been a break-in at all and that I believed that there was something wrong and that it even was more simple than we might perhaps think.

The weapon that had been used to stab Pietro had never been found and the forensics haven't really been able to read anything from their analysis, as Beppo and Sally, even I and several other people had left behind so many clues at the site of crime that they mingled with the ones that would perhaps lead to the murderer, but could not be extracted.

Inspector Lestrade was still pretending that he believed Beppo's story about that break-in and was already eager to close the case. He had not even considered consulting Sherlock about it at all.

I was desperate, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and be the one who asked Sherlock for help, hopefully without revealing whom I suspected being the real murderer.

I still thought that Moriarty might have been asked by Beppo to murder Pietro. Why would Beppo then, back in March, have been so very confused about Moriarty's appearance at Pietro's party? Why else should he have reacted so very strange at the party that had been held for Moriarty at University? And had not James told me even back then by himself, that he had already had made Beppo's acquaintance and that he had already been consulted by him?

I hadn't been able to understand, what approaching James Moriarty would mean for real, which business he would gladly do for his clients. But now I knew better.

_Dear Jim, couldn't you just kill my boyfriend off as I can't stand the sight of him any longer?_

That would explain every single act of Moriarty's doing. Sneaking into the University, learning everything about that building and it's people had been the first steps. Then, Moriarty being a Professor was just helpful for the whole plan. No one would expect the new famous Professor only coming to this University just to murder a student in particular, seeming to be the least one responsible for that horrible death. And that famous masterpiece, The Dynamics of an Asteroid, was just a little addition, the personal note that Moriarty loved to add, just because of his urge to show off.

Why else would Jim have been around the pottery rooms at all? It had had to be him, everything just fitted perfectly and it explained why he had come back here again. After that 'Great Game' thing with Sherlock Jim Moriarty had disappeared in April. He disappeared out of my life, because I had really been no use for him. Now, he hadn't come back for me or anything that regarded me. He had come back to finish his business with Pietro and Beppo and most importantly, with Sherlock.

I had to play an unimportant part in it. Perhaps Moriarty just let me live and stick my nose into those things because it was just a nice little detail that would enhance the pleasure he would gain from that job. Would the little girl find out who really murdered Pietro? Would she really dare to meddle with the big business of the masterminds?

I was just nothing. That's why Moriarty hadn't been so thorough with me, that's why I had never really been threatened by him, that's why he had nothing done to me at all. Because I wasn't even worth that effort, even if he could use me against his arch-enemies.

It seemed to be so clear to me, so simple. I had always felt it. I had no role in that game. I was not worth anything.

And that realization was supported by another 'unpleasant' fact.

I haven't received a single invitation from Moriarty since Pietro's murder. Not a single text message that invited me to join him in his office. James Moriarty had grown silent, even at University he hardly even looked at me when he saw me. But even more often did I feel his glare burning on my back, even more often did I have the chilling feeling of being watched.

But now I supposed and even somehow dared to know for real, that the feeling of being watched had nothing to do with Moriarty at all. It had to be my father, as he even grew more and more suspicious, especially as I told him I would take matters in my own hands, if no one solved Pietro's case the right way. Father watched my every step and I didn't even decide to hide. From now on, as I didn't seem to play an important part anyway, I would just wander openly between the borders of good and evil, not matter what consequences that would trigger off.

But still I asked myself, why would Beppo want to see his boyfriend dead? There had to be a good reason for that sort of hatred that made him wish him dead. Unrequited Love? Jealousy?

I shivered, wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck and pulled my cap deeper down my forehead. If I was really lucky there would be snow falling, if not a blizzard welcoming me in devil's hell named Baker Street 221B.

I angrily reached behind me and knocked furiously at the door again. Was there really no jerk who would rescue a young girl from freezing in the cold? Not even that nice woman Mrs Hudson?

I blinked, my eyes still full of tears of being penetrated by that harsh wind, and was able to see a police car arriving. To no surprise, Sherlock and Dr. Watson got off the car.

"Just to say it again, gentlemen, I am terribly sorry for his behaviour. I swear I will keep him away from any Father Christmas he could encounter the next weeks.", said the smaller man to the policeman driving the car and waved him goodbye.

But as interesting it would be to get to know Doctor Watson, my gaze just rested on Sherlock Holmes.

He was not the most handsome guy I'd ever seen. But if I hadn't known his personality, I would have attributed him features that were indeed interesting. There was something in his eyes that a normal mortal would hardly ever be able to decipher, except from being gifted with the ability of deduction like Sherlock himself.

He was tall, his coat with its popped collar, his steady pace towards the house, his almost grim but determined expression, which also slightly showed flashes of boredom and concentration running over his face, were just, well, interesting.

But interesting was the little brother of nice.

And to my disadvantage, I knew Sherlock somehow very well and would just gracefully and graciously only chose the negative version of nice. Because I knew there were several people who were eager to chose even worse attributes for Sherlock Holmes.

As he approached the entrance, he just stared down at me, with an almost unreadable expression of his bright eyes. It was empty, but it seemed to petrify me even more with every second he looked over my crouched body.

I was just not able to move, as I seemed to have frozen onto that stairs and was banned to look into those fathomless eyes, that made it in no way possible to see anything in them that granted their owner any human features.

He was a machine. A bored machine who would even kill himself just to be not bored to death.

Dr. Watson knitted his eyebrows as he saw me and stepped closer, a smile on his thin lips forming as he begun:

"Hi, you-"

"Here you are, Merry Christmas.", Sherlock uttered suddenly, reached deep down into his pockets and threw some coins to my feet. My eyes slowly followed them down, observing the coins strumming on the street and even onto my leather boots.

"Sherlock!", cried Dr. Watson reproachfully. I pressed my lips tightly together and struggled myself up unto my stiff feet, hardly getting my balance, as Dr. Watson came to my assistance and grabbed one arm to support me.

"Good God, you must be half frozen!", he said worriedly and searched my eyes to meet his.

But I just glanced at Sherlock with all hatred I could muster and fought to hold my tears back that immediately surged up. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I would never cry because of him insulting me.

I had been accustomed to it.

But Sherlock's insults were completely different from those I had received from Moriarty. Moriarty's had just intended to appeal to those who were involved, just intended to savour the moment and enjoy the thrill of challenging each other, were pleasurable to the fullest.

Sherlock's weren't. Sherlock knew exactly what he said. And he meant it.

Sherlock never used any excuses, never babbled useless, senseless things. Every single word that came over his lips was chosen for a specific purpose.

Every single word he had ever chosen for me, was to insult me, hurt me.

Sherlock was even worse to bear than an outstanding Professor and criminal mastermind who could be the one someday being responsible for my early and by no means natural demise. That would be a sweet death at least.

"Sherlock, what had that been for?", asked Watson reproachfully, as Sherlock turned around the key in the lock and opened the door to let us all step into the warm house.

"John, look at her clothes, look at her appearance and her posture, even you must have thought her to be nothing more than pertinacious beggar, blocking our way to the front door." Sherlock shrugged, without dignifying me with as much as a disdainful glance and hurried up the stairs.

"And you call yourself master of deduction.", I lowly muttered, handing my cloak, cap and scarf to the offering hands of Dr. Watson and this time let his warming and greeting smile cheer me up a little.

I had known coming here would be bad. I had no right to have any better expectations at all.

"You must excuse him, Miss, he recently -"

But I shook my head and smiled back.

"Don't exert yourself, Dr. Watson. I was not expecting to receive a nice welcoming gesture anyway. I am even surprised he did not ignore me completely."

"Excuse me, but how am I to understand this?"

"Oh, sorry, yes, I shouldn't have even expected that Sherlock ever told you about me, or did he?", I asked, but just did not wait to see Watson raise his eyebrows and shrug apologetically, as it would only worsen the situation, "I am Sharon Holmes, daughter of Mycroft Holmes and nice of your own personal flatmate-freak."

Watson opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated a little, took one step back and pointed with his index finger at me, his reply coming out in some stuttering of disbelief.

"Mycroft has children?"

"By your reaction I might deduce that he indeed did not tell you anything about me.", I said and I could even not hide being a little disappointed. Even a little notion wouldn't have hurt my dear uncle, would it? I mean, even Jim Moriarty had once considered me being important!

"My apologies to saying that but having children would be the least I expected from Mycroft.", Watson said and I shook my head long and well. "But the thought of Sherlock being your uncle even disturbs me more."

"Sherlock always denied my existence. I think accepting that my father Mycroft exists is just sufficient for him, making the effort of caring for his brothers' offspring would just be too much wasted energy for his poor overstressed genius-mind to conjure up." I said and followed Watson up to their apartment.

"Well, I might agree with you that he would never fulfil a role as uncle in any way."

"I'd even say that the mere characterisation would suit him no way in hell, even if there was no other way left on earth giving him a name."

Dr. Watson chuckled and invited me to enter their flat. Sherlock already sat at the desk and wrote something into the laptop, not even caring for me being there, whereas Watson was so kind to offer me a seat on their old sofa.

"Can I offer you something, Miss Holmes? Tea?", Watson asked and I saw that he was still a bit confused about me, as he kept scrutinizing me from head to toe. Perhaps the only thing that my uncle and I had in common was our curled, raven black hair. But I even hoped that there was nothing else left.

"No thanks. I won't stay long. And please just call me Sharon, Dr. Watson."

"Then I must insist you calling me John."

I nodded with a shy smile and once more threw a glance to Sherlock, who was doggedly typing, perhaps another 242 types of tobacco ash. Yes, I even read Sherlock's homepage again, as well as I regularly read John Watson's blog since I had first read it.

Watson took a seat and looked at me, looked at Sherlock and back at me. I knew he wanted to treat me as kind as possible, but he wouldn't dare to ask me what I was here for.

He knew I came for Sherlock and that's why he tried to stay in the background.

"I have a case for you to solve. There's been a murder at my University and a friend of mine was killed. Pietro Venucci, an art student, had been found stabbed in the pottery room of the arts department. There was no murder weapon found and a smashed window seemed to confirm a break-in. But I just asked myself who the hell would break into a simple pottery room which is used by art students?"

"That's a good question indeed. Who found the corpse?", asked John and threw some nervous glances at Sherlock again.

"His boyfriend, Beppo Rovito, was discovered next to the body by my friend Sally and he told the police that he'd just discovered him and he'd been released from custody soon as they had nothing against him. Inspector Lestrade bought his story of a break-in and didn't even care to consult you as he thought that case was too simple. It may be simple indeed, but I am convinced that Beppo is responsible for this death, as they had fierce relationship, as far as I was ever getting them both to know.", I said and from the corner of my eye realized that Sherlock indeed paid my report attention and watched me curiously through my whole speech.

"That case is clear. You were in love with that Pietro and want to see someone arrested. And as there is no other man related to this case it you just suspect his boyfriend. This is tedious. And jealousy does not suit you, Sally."

I clenched my fists and ignored Sherlock, staring holes into Dr. Watsons forehead, which he acknowledged with a Sherlock-has-just-a-bad-memory smirk. But I knew what Sherlock wanted to show me with that. Because I knew Sherlock's generally principle of how to lead a life in our society - just remember information which is necessary.

"It's _Sharon_, _uncle_, Sally is a friend of mine." I said calmly, my nails digging even deeper into my flesh, as I tried to insult him back, even just a little. "And by the way, there have been some burglaries at -"

"I see it right here in Lestrade's file.", Sherlock interrupted me, while John jumped to his feet.

"You've hacked the police's computer system?", he asked disbelievingly, but Sherlock ignored him.

"Burglaries at houses belonging to a couple of students, a lecturer and a friend of the victim. The question is, what had the burglar been searching for? Something related to the art department?", Sherlock interrupted me suddenly and turned the laptop around to let me see the article he had just found.

Was I completely wrong or was Sherlock already hooked by that case? Or was he just pretending to help me just to send me off more quickly and without appearing even more unfriendly to his niece in front of Dr. Watson? Or was he doing it because he already solved some cases for my father and perhaps finally saw me a little as part of my father and accepted even a request from me? Or was he deducing somehow from my body that I expected his arch-enemy being the one murdering Pietro?

"Pietro was close to finish his work for an exhibition at Hickman Gallery. He even already sold some of his pieces, pottery figures of Maggie Thatcher, and those were the ones being stolen. I, by the way, still have mine.", I said.

"Well John, I think it would be a great task to get information about those stolen goods at the University. I guess the best way to sneak in for you would be pretending to be a curator of that Hickman Gallery or something.", Sherlock snarled.

"Or just a late student who just began to study and refresh his skills." I grumbled and even earned a significant pejorative look from him. But I just bit my tongue. Why had I said this? This was a thing which I had left behind already several months ago, but why did it concern me so much that moment? Was it because of the thought that Dr. Watson would just sneak his way into the University just as Moriarty had done?

"That is just silly. Not one would take him for serious if he pretended to do so.", Sherlock said, frowning, as he looked at me.

I sighed with a little hint of relief. As if he had known that someone had fooled me that way. But perhaps he was just able to deduce it by the looks of my face as I said that, the tone of my voice, the crouching of my shoulders, whatever silly thing it might be. Or he related it to the fact that I earlier had ignored the love-thingy he touched upon.

A sudden uncomfortable chill ran down my spine. Did he know something? Did he know about my meeting with a much older guy, who even turned out to be a professor? Not only a Professor but Jim Moriarty himself who swore war to Sherlock Holmes?

Had I already mentioned that beside his fascinating and also despicable abilities, Sherlock Holmes was one of the most intimidating people alive?

"How's that new Professor?"

I almost bolted from my seat, but I just crossed my legs to hide my urge to just run away and hide somewhere and regret it ever going to Baker Street 221b.

"Who?", I asked.

"Who? James Moriarty of course.", Sherlock said and huffed, Watson being on pins and needles, his gaze jumping back and forth between us.

"I know you perhaps blanked it out a long time ago, but I do not study physics or maths.", I said, letting my voice being coloured by a dark tone of anger and disappointment.

"You know him. You have visited his lecture.", he said, penetrating me still with his look, as if he wanted to see my every movement, my every reaction to whatever he confronted me with.

"So it was you whom I bumped into as I ran off the lecture hall!", I called out.

"What do you think?"

I swallowed and tried to calm down. Now it had to be the time for me beginning to act. I had to keep Sherlock in the dark, I had to use those skills which I inherited, I had to deceive my own uncle, I had to remain strong and confident.

Should I even try to say something which Sherlock would not expect? But what would that be, what would he not instantly see as disguise for whatever I knew about Moriarty? What would he expect me to say when he suspected me to know Professor James Moriarty?  
Someone who knew Moriarty's official personality would see him as brilliant person, and every other person would even say that too, just in order to lead away from the fact that they knew Moriarty only as being a criminal mastermind. So why not even dare say the truth? Why not say what I really thought of James Moriarty?

Why shouldn't I keep my word that I gave to myself and just be brave and act openly? Should I show Sherlock that I was indeed aware of what was going on around me, going on between Sherlock and Jim?

"James Moriarty and you are alike.", I said, snivelling shortly, "but he's far more handsome than you."

There was a long silence and I didn't even dare to look up into any of those two men's faces.

It was no lie, it was even something I even had already told Moriarty back then in March, when I had even not guessed the slightest who James Moriarty really was.

Now I just made it fair and told Sherlock my opinion about Jim and himself.

"At least I am someone who has an assistant by my side. Does a Professor have some sorts of special assistants as well?", Sherlock answered and I looked up to him and saw him scrutinizing my body, but I just smirked back at him.

Was that the solution? Was that perhaps the reason why James Moriarty constantly had invited me to his office, to make me his assistant? But what would he have needed me for, id my theory about things was really true? But I shook that thought off quickly.

Watson just looked a bit baffled, searching for words, but Sherlock already decided what there had to be said.

"I will help you. And keep watch of that pottery figure you have. It might lead us directly to the murderer of that Peter."

"Pietro."

"Yes, thanks, Sally."

I huffed and Watson just shook his head apologetically again, but I waved him aside. At least something was done and I had finally some point to start with. Watson led me down to the entrance door and handed me my coat, while I was happy to make my leave.

"Sharon, I hope you don't mind me asking, but, has Sherlock ever called you by your name?"

I smiled at him and shook his hand eagerly.

"Once he has. But that's long ago, that I can't even remember it."

"When was that?"

"As far as I know, when I was born, Sherlock was the one who suggested my name to my parents."

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**It would be very nice if you left a little comment! ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys!**

**I'm really sorry for being that late, but nevertheless, I hope you'll stick with me and enjoy that chapter!**

**Have fun and please leave some comments!**

* * *

YOU CHALLENGE ME

_**DECEMBER**_

Rumours about Pietro's death spread in the University like wildfire and triggered off the strangest reactions. People were grouping together to fight against crime, others even suggested that the whole case was involved into terroristic actions and others just decided to mourn over a student they didn't even know, putting hundreds of candles in front of the pottery room and wrote letters, words, that should reach the deceased in the afterlife.

But rumours were dangerous. Rumours blurred the truth and made it even more difficult to track the murderer of Pietro down and bring him to court.

People even dropped out of University, just because they were too afraid of even entering the building any longer. I, for myself, should have dropped out even earlier, just the moment James Moriarty had made his way into the lecture hall.

Still, I wasn't that convinced of my theories about myself being involved in what was going on around me. And how far I was involved into Moriarty's doings.

I was strolling around lazily in the main hall. Dr. Watson would be here soon and trying to get some information about Pietro from the Dean or the Headmaster, pretending to be a member of the Hickman gallery, where Pietro's first exhibition, now post mortem, would take place. He would just pretend to come here making sure that there was no piece of art left at the University that the gallery should receive for the exhibition.

"Miss Holmes!"

I turned around and could not refrain from laughing.

"Dr. Watson, is this your disguise?"

Watson huffed and looked down onto his clothes. He looked awful. He wore some old-fashioned corduroy-suit and a very strange faked moustache and some glasses. If someone knew Dr. Watson for real, everyone would see that horrible appearance was total fake. But I hoped that it would suffice to fool the Dean and the Headmaster.

"Actually, it was Sherlock's doing."

Not very soon after that, the Dean and Headmaster were approaching us, but it was too late for me to sneak away. No one should actually see me talking to Dr. Watson, alias Mr Brown from Hickman gallery.

"Mr. Brown, welcome!", said the Headmaster and shook Dr. Watson's hand long and well.

"Miss Holmes.", the Dean said and gave me a very irritated look, but I was happy that Dr. Watson came to my aid.

"Miss Holmes and I were just having a chat, gentlemen. She's a very stubborn young lady, definitely knows the potential of fine modern art. No matter how hard I try to convince her, she just won't sell me her statue of Margaret Thatcher that Pietro Venucci made soon before he passed away. Considering the circumstances, those pieces will certainly raise on collector's value."

I nodded with a shy smile and was hoping that they would buy that lie.

"Pietro Venucci's demise is a tragic affair, Mr Brown. Horrible for all of us, for the whole University.", the Headmaster said and everyone could feel he was tied up in knots. "But I hope that you nevertheless entered the sacred halls of wisdom enjoying the atmosphere that one can usually experience."

He waved his hand and let us all have a good look around and Watson gave him a stiff smile. But that smile even grew stiffer. And my heart sank into my shoes.

I knew it would be better for me to leave immediately.

Because I forgot it.

I forgot that this was London University where _he_ was.

James Moriarty was standing just in the middle of the hall, staring at us. Not even directly staring at us, but staring at Dr. Watson. No disguise, not even a better one than Watson had, would ever be able to deceive James Moriarty. He would know who was standing there.

He knew what it would mean.

And his steady gaze that was resting on our little group was just enough for me, enough evidence to be totally convinced that James Moriarty murdered Pietro Venucci.

The moment I saw how Doctor Watson's and James Moriarty's eyes met, as I passed that horrible seconds that it would take both of them to recognise who each other was, I thought it couldn't get worse. But it did, as James Moriarty slowly came up to us.

"Professor Moriarty, nice to see you, but I have to excuse myself, I am actually having an appointment and no time for you at the moment.", the Headmaster said apologetically and wrung his hands. I could feel him tense even more. But who would not be hamstrung in the presence of the charming Professor James Moriarty?

"My concern won't bother you for a long time, Headmaster. I just wanted to tell you that I perhaps won't be available the next weeks. There are actually very important matters coming up that need to meticulously be taken care of.", Moriarty said and gave us all one of his very stern, but nevertheless irresistible smirks.

"Of course, do as ever you please, Professor.", the Headmaster said hastily, but Moriarty hadn't finished yet. And he did something I had not ever thought of being able to witness. I felt it in my bones, I felt it on my skin, as if I was the one involved in it.

"Excuse me, Sir, I should have introduced myself. Moriarty, James Moriarty. Professor of Physics and Mathematics at London University.", Moriarty said and held his hand out to Dr. Watson, with a hidden, mischievous and challenging glint in his eyes, studying the reaction of his opponent.

I saw Watson hesitate, just shortly. I knew how he must feel. According to his blog, the last time he and Moriarty met, James had bound about five pounds of explosives onto his body, ready to blow Watson's head off.

I knew it would be more than hard for John Watson to touch the man in front of him, the man who nearly had been killing him, the man who had challenged his best friend to a duel to the death.

"Brown, Hickman gallery.", Watson said shortly.

I shivered as I saw those two shaking hands, with a firm grip and a faked smile on their faces.

Then, Moriarty shortly looked at me and our eyes met as well.

I hadn't seen him since that day Pietro was killed. He hadn't contacted me since too, as if he knew what was going on inside my mind, as if he knew that I was suspecting him. No one else would have seen what he actually told me with his look at me. With those dark eyes, that just seemed to rest shortly on my figure, without even really fixing me. But I saw that he hadn't expected this. I knew that he hadn't expected I would consult Sherlock Holmes and his companion John Watson.

He knew how my relation to Sherlock looked like. He knew it wasn't even a relation at all.

He wanted and expected me to act, _me_, but not making someone else doing it.

I knew that I could no longer refuse him. No matter if I did really consult Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who were trying to infiltrate the University to get some information, I could no longer run away from James Moriarty.

I still presumed I was not even playing a part in that game, but at least now, with me consulting Sherlock, I had brought myself in. No matter what, I have made myself part of it.

Dr. Watson cleared his throat and I looked at him again. He was as pale as death and he looked at me directly, as if he wanted to accuse me having not warned him that he could actually meet James Moriarty at University.

But still, I had never mentioned in front of Sherlock or Watson, that I knew who Moriarty really was. I had even successfully evaded that inquiry of Sherlock about that new Professor.

My big mistake was, that I hadn't thought the whole thing through. I had not ever thought that Watson and Moriarty could really stumble upon each other in here. And I didn't even dare to think about the consequences.

"Miss Holmes.", Moriarty bowed slightly before me.

I just took one step back, felt that my whole body began to tremble.

Because I knew I would have to do it now, immediately.

I had to approach Moriarty.

I had to speak to him.

"Excuse me now, I will return to my office.", James said and made his leave.

"Now, shouldn't we head to the pottery rooms?", the Headmaster said and the small group set in motion, after shortly saying goodbye to me.

But I didn't really hear them anymore, as I already was on Moriarty's heels. I did not really follow him, just went slowly after him, keeping more than a secure distance and even stopped at the black board to have a look at it, without really reading something.

I felt like Jim Moriarty had bound a leash around my belly and was constantly dragging me towards his office. I felt I had no choice anymore. I had to run after him, face him, do whatever it needed, to show him I was there.

I was there to finally be a part of the great game.

There I stood.

I stood in front of the door of James Moriarty's office, just a mere wooden door separating me from entering and finally speaking to him, confronting him with everything that was going on inside me. I would not even try to play any games, just put my cards on the table and face him.

I breathed hard.

Then I opened the door and stepped in, found Moriarty standing with his back to me in front of the big windows, his hands folded at his back.

My hand clasped around the doorknob and I was rooted to the spot, just having to look at this figure of him standing there, observing the city, seeming to be so very distanced and yet the centre of everything that happened. Everything bad that happened out there.

"Close at least the door behind you.", he said, not even turning around to face me. I breathed in sharply, but did as he asked. As I turned around, he still was not facing me.

"So you only come up to me when you want and never when I invite you to?", he asked in a calm voice, sweet and comforting.

I took one step closer, rapidly scanning the office, not even really caring what was inside here. Perhaps it was just the set for one of his innumerable disguises and would tell me nothing about him anyway.

"How did you know it was me?", I asked, my voice shivering with anger about my body quivering with agitation and anticipation. At least, he didn't see it, but I bet he would even feel it instead.

"You are the only person inside the walls of this University, who would not ever care to knock before she enters the room. Just because of your lack of respect.", he said, still not turning around to me, keeping me tense and on pins and needles.

" I simply do not accept you as my professor. Secondly, I know different kinds of people named James Moriarty."

"So what took you so long, coming up to me? Have you been busy strolling around in town, doing your Christmas-shopping, having a look at all those remarkable sights of London?", he asked again, even a bit reproachfully. But the hell I knew how he could act!

"I am not the sightseeing person.", I said, throwing my bag onto one of the chairs in front of his desk and crossed my arms, trying to calm myself down.

"For such a long time, I had always wanted to visit the Tower of London.", James murmured.

"Well, it would be the right place for you.", I answered and bit onto my lip, just imagining how nowadays a criminal like him would be arrested and kept in prison at such a place. Somehow it was delightful to imagine him squatting in a corner of the bloody tower.

"It is indeed a remarkable place. It's walls know so much history, it's rooms so much dignity, it is just such a royal palace. Don't forget to mention the precious crown jewels. I am convinced I'd look gorgeous in a crown."

"It rather would be the right place for you to have as a life-long residence, but on water and bread.", I sneered, angry about him talking such nonsense.

That was when he turned around.

And there was indeed no Professor anymore to behold. It was a new sort of Moriarty, I had not yet been able to meet. He took the few steps around his table, slowly coming up to me, his face in a hard and angry expression. He was clenching his teeth and I could see his eyes getting darker and darker. His body was radiating something that made me take several steps back, something that I hadn't felt with him ever before.

It was danger.

He followed my every step, came closer and breathed in hard and sharply, raising his hand-

And I turned away from him, my shoulders slightly hunching and an appalled little tone escaped my lips, and I squinted my eyes in anxious anticipation, as I tried to escape from him. But nothing happened and I blinked back at him.

"You really are waiting for me going to slap you?", Jim asked with a low and hoarse voice and his hand still raised in mid-air.

"One could expect that from James Moriarty. But hitting me wouldn't change anything.", I whispered, still crouching before him, not sure what to do next.

"At least it would comfort me.", James hissed through his clenched teeth, "You always tempted me to do it, but not just hit you, even kill you."

"Just like you killed Pietro?"

The slap was hard and hurt so much, that it felt like it dislocated my jawbone. I stumbled back and held my hand against my burning cheek and looked up back at him again. My heart bumped so hard that I thought it would just rip a hole into my chest and I tried hard to choke back my tears.

"Are you feeling any better now?", I hissed, glared at him with all the disdain and hate I could muster. James looked down onto his hand and stretched his fingers.

"Yes."

I spurted forward so immediately, that even James Moriarty didn't see it coming and I slapped him back as hard as I could. But he just bore my attempt with unblinking eyes, his head even not very much tilting and his lips still being pressed against each other firmly.

"Me too.", I huffed, shaking my hand, but somehow feeling joy compensating the pain that burned like fire on my cheek. But I was still bound by his intense and unfamiliar look. It was darker than dark and I saw how much he wanted to stretch out his hand, put it around my throat and slowly squeeze my young and ordinary life out of me.

But still, I wasn't that afraid as I probably should have been.

"Why did you bring him here?"

I looked to the floor. Why did I even feel like I committed a blunder? Why did I even feel ashamed?

It was only natural that Moriarty felt that someone invaded his territory. But it was not only someone, it had been Dr. Watson, which implied that it actually had been Sherlock Holmes.

"You killed Pietro Venucci. Beppo asked the great consulting criminal to end an innocent life, and you did it. Just for the money or just for the fun?", I snarled, even standing more upright and balanced on my feet, preparing for him slapping me again. But even now, I bet the previous slap had just been just an unusual outburst. Still, he seemed to be someone who didn't want to make his hands dirty.

James closed his eyes and breathed deep.

"I am still so disappointed in you, Sharon. You didn't follow my invitation at all and just came here to accuse me.", Jim huffed, repeating the movement of his hand brushing through his hair, "But I am not the right person to be accused."

I rose my eyebrows and clenched my fists, my thoughts swirling around in my mind. Was he lying to me? But for all I knew about James Moriarty was, that he never ever before had been lying to me. But things had changed and so could his behaviour towards me. I'd even felt it just a few moments ago and that still caused my cheek burning with pain.

"It hasn't been you?", I asked, my voice fading.

"How could you even assume something like that?"

"You're the most dangerous criminal in the world. Pietro was killed. I deduced."

Suddenly, an outburst of laughter escaped Moriarty's lungs and he rose both his hands towards the ceiling, as if he worshipped a higher being. But I knew that he was just doing something else with his arms, just to suppress the urge to hit me again. I still felt that he eagerly wanted to punish me for what I said and would say.

"Your powers of deduction are really poor. If you really ever closely listened to whatever I said to you, you would perhaps still be refusing even to enter my little office altogether.", he said, turning around and walking up and down his office, "But I told you, back in March, that Beppo had been coming up to me and I refused him."

"It doesn't change the fact that Pietro is dead."

"But that mess was not even a beginner's doing. It was nastily filthy, impulsive, only despicable in how it was acted out. That's nothing I would strive to be known for. If it really had been me at all, his body would already be washed downstream the river Thames or inside the meat grinder of Mrs. Lovett at Fleet Street.", James snarled.

"Are you trying to say that there are admirable ways of killing someone?"

"Also pleasurable ones.", James snickered and gulfed down his drink.

"You're disgusting!", I cried out and retreated back to the walls of books behind me.

"But he has fuelled my spirit to destroy something. It's been so long since I had some fun. Now I have the urge to misbehave again. Perhaps I will kill someone, finally kill someone named Holmes."

I just had the feeling that I had to run. I had to run away from him. A strangely strong feeling of fear let my body shiver and my legs moved on their own, stumbled forward. His appearance changed so suddenly, within an instant, but I wasn't fast enough, to reckon his step towards me. No sooner had he grabbed my shoulders, laid his hands around my neck, while I tried to push him away from me.

"You can't even imagine how easily it is done. So quick, so fast, almost with no effort. But nevertheless it is such a powerful act. The feeling of having someone's life in your hands, the feeling of letting it slip away, is so powerful. It's like playing god.", Jim whispered, pressed his fingers against my throat, squeezing it firmly, but also almost gently. I digged my nails into his wrists, trying to free myself from him. With eyes wide open I met his unreadable gaze, his eyes that weren't really looking at me. Once again, his thoughts were far away from this situation, from me.

"Then, at least say, that it was you.", I hissed, desperately trying to draw breath.

"I did not kill Pietro Venucci. Not even indirectly.", James said monotonously.

"I don't believe you.", I said, some tears already falling down my cheeks and my body leaning against him, as I wasn't any longer to stand on my own feet.

"You have to. You've even already reckoned that weeks ago. I do always tell the truth. but I do not like to repeat myself.", Jim whispered even more softly, laying his hands beneath my ears, his grasp getting even tighter.

"Admit it.", I choked.

"No."

"Admit."

I was close to faint. But he would not kill me, would he? Hadn't I already been sure that there was no purpose for him in doing it? Or would he just love to have my life in his hands, be the one who would take it away from me? This was the side of James Moriarty I hadn't ever seen before. The one which didn't care for rationality, intelligence, purpose and tricky games at all. This was the dark side of him that simply wanted to destroy whatever crossed his path, as long as the act would satisfy him.

"But actually, there's something to admit.", Jim suddenly said, letting me go so suddenly, that I just fell on my knees, choking and coughing hard, "If only such an act like a murder makes you coming up to me, I wish I had really been the one killing that poor boy. Then it would have really been me who made you coming here."

"Who was it then?", I asked, curling myself up at his feet, whimpering just shortly, as I realised that I was coming to a dead end.

"Are you really so stupid that you can't figure that out yourself?"

"Who was it then?", I asked again, grabbing one of his feet, taking it for support.

"I won't tell you. It is your turn now. To be in my favour again, you have to show me that you can act. Well, I fear, discovering the truth of that lumpy case isn't enough anymore.", James sneered, just disdainfully staring down at me.

"Who says I want to be in your favour?", I asked him back and tried to oppose him as I already had done so confidently and cheekily long ago, but he just looked at me, unimpressed and cold-heartedly.

But I looked at him impertinently and steadfastly, that he finally rolled his eyes knelt down in front of me. I swallowed hard as I faced him, his expression slowly growing stern.

I couldn't stand his gaze any longer and looked away, biting my lip.

I knew what he would say.

I knew he would just say what I knew all along.

"You wanted it. You still want it. Pietro's death found a ready welcome, you loved that opportunity to finally participate in the game of Sherlock's and mine. You were frightened, thrilled and pleased by it, you wanted that death and you loved the thought of me being the one responsible for it. You loved to see death."

I bit my lip even harder, swallowed my tears, but James grabbed my chin and made me look at him again.

"You love the dark side, don't you? You want to participate, join in and don't even care about what it would cost."

"No, that's not true.", I moaned.

James raised his eyebrows and I instinctively nodded a little.

That was, what still remained.

James Moriarty's only honest behaviour towards me, was now the one I hated the most.

He indeed always told me the truth and he had done it again.

I couldn't accept it, though. How could I bear the thought that I really did not only mourn the death of a friend of mine, but also saw it as opportunity, was happy about someone dying right before my eyes? I didn't realise how serious I was, how real everything was. Pietro would never return, but all I had been interested in, has been getting close to Moriarty, just to be able to oppose him with proper armour.

I wouldn't have needed the possibility to accuse him having committed that murder, if I just dared to face him as I was.

I was weak. The armour I thought I was clad in, hadn't been there at all.

I didn't even try to hide my tears from James Moriarty, that were silently running down my cheeks. James smiled wickedly and raised his hand, but I pushed it away, struggled with him trying to touch me, pushing him, oppressing my sobbing.

"Sharon."

Jim's voice didn't even sound annoyed or demanding. He just called me and waited, until I somehow calmed down again.

"Sharon."

I breathed in deep, not longer wanting to let him see me loosing myself so much.

"What should I do then?", I asked, pulling the loose strands of my disarranged hair behind my ears, wiped with my hands over my burning cheeks and looked back directly into James' eyes.

James then gave me one of his typical smirks again, which showed me that for the first time, I had asked him the right question, one he would really tolerate and answer me.

"Impress me."

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	15. Chapter 15

**My dear readers,**

**I am really sorry for abandoning you for such a long time. But actually, I will finish this story and hope that you'll still enjoy it!**

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* * *

_**DECEMBER**_

I snivelled and hastily brushed with my sweaty hand over my disarranged hair, after James' office door had closed behind me. I rubbed with my hands over my cheeks, to wipe the remains of my salty tears away and slowly began to walk down the corridor.

"Sharon! What are you doing here?"

Sally was running towards me and I welcomed her with spread arms to hug her, but she stopped a few steps before me, eyeballing me curiously.

"I am happy to see you here! You didn't tell me that you would be released from the hospital that soon!", I said cheerfully and swallowed several times, before presenting her one of my most enchanting smiles. But I felt that something had changed about my best friend's posture entirely.

"I think I am not the only one who keeps some secrets.", Sally said, peeking at the door to Moriarty's office behind me mistrustfully.

"What's the matter?", I asked nervously and folded my arms, but Sally just shook her head and clenched her fists.

"You are just disgusting, Sharon! Pietro is dead and you just have thoughts and eyes for _that_!", she hollered and punched my shoulder, pointing at the office. What the hell was happening with her? Did I miss anything? But who knew how much Sally was still affected by the death of her beloved and not thinking clearly.

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of mourning your friend and lamenting for Pietro, you just have a little nice tryst with that guy right in the middle of the day! How can you just focus on your creepy desires for him? There are more important things to do than chasing sexual fantasies!", Sally screamed at me and I was just perplex.

"It was nothing like that, I-!", I began, but Sharon just punched me even harder, that I had to stumble back.

"How can you just betray us that much? How far did you go already? But considering how you look like, you already went quite far!", she cried and pointed at my neck, where I supposed that Moriarty had really left marks as he had squeezed my throat. But of course, Sally would see them as marks I got from another particular action.

"It's not as you think, Sally. And anyway, how can you say that Pietro's death leaves me cold? All I do is trying to find his murderer!"

But it was useless, Sally didn't even listen to me and just threw innumerable verbal abuses at me. I didn't recognise her at all, she seemed to have lost all over her cheerful attire, she just lost herself and went too far. Not that it really concerned me, what she thought about Moriarty and me, but it concerned me what she thought about myself alone.

"I will no longer watch you giving yourself away to that guy!", she hollered and stomped away. But I just remained silent. I was hurt, really. And somehow I didn't understand at all, what Sally was really making such a fuzz about. I even thought that she always tried to incite me just enjoying my relation to James Moriarty and dare whatever I wanted.

Was it jealousy that drove her that far? Was she still so hurt about her having lost her love, which she had never been even able to live the slightest?

I shook my head.

I had to focus on other things, nevertheless.

I had to find out who had been the murderer of Pietro and I had to find out what James Moriarty really expected me to do. Now, I was quite sure that he involved me in his great game, that I had to play my part, which I still had to figure out.

I shivered.

But had Sally really been right? Moriarty had said as well, that I was only enjoying Pietro's death, delighting in that twist of fate, that horrible happening that finally stirred up my ordinary life. Additionally, I enjoyed bearing the presence of the most dangerous criminal person in the world, whom I wasn't even afraid of, but whom I needed desperately.

Had I really been showing it off that much?

But it was true after all.

I had finally found my path, or at least the goal where it should lead to. I could do whatever I wanted anyway, no matter the consequences, as they didn't even matter anymore. Who would care about my life, about my future, if I could finally mingle with the ones really important, the ones extraordinary?

When I came home that evening, Dr Watson was already waiting for me. Fortunately, there was no point in being concerned about the presence of my father, as he preferred the tranquillity of his room at Diogenes' anyway. Anthea was very excited to see Dr Watson and just because she knew that I reckoned her reaction or rather affection towards him very well, she would not betray me to my father about secretly having contacted CSI Baker Street.

According to the information that I already picked up and the reports that John gave Sherlock and me about what the Headmaster told him about the remains of Pietro's pieces of art, we developed our final plan to lure the murderer out of his hiding place.

All of Pietro's remaining and already sold Margaret Thatcher-statues had been stolen from their owners. I was the only one remaining who still had hers in her possession, which was the thing that would lead us to the murderer.

Our final act was simple: I only put the piece up for sale on the internet site of the Hickman gallery with some additional contact information. I knew, even the murderer or the thief would smell the rat easily but we all hoped that they were desperate enough to steal the last one as well.

Sherlock was convinced anyway that the criminal was a blatant dilettante, actually, to be completely honest, he simply called him an imbecile. But his disdain for the one didn't hinder him from staying away from Pall Mall as far as possible and leaving John and me to do the hard work.

I could feel Watson's nervousness as he was standing there at the entrance door, his hands in his pockets, his mouth twitching, as I welcomed him at Pall Mall.

"So where's the statue?", he asked, taking a secret look around in the entrance hall, checking the location of every room in advance. I knew our plan was risky, as both John and I weren't really the best ones to overcome a burglar, but something in my bones as well as Sherlock's strange suggestions about the one being responsible for Pietro's death made me quite sure that there wasn't much danger we would face at all.

"I thought it would be easier to keep it in the living room. We could stay in the adjacent kitchen and observe the situation from there.", I said, directly leading him into the living room, and I felt him looking at everything with big eyes. I chuckled. Doctor Watson must always have been curious about how my father and I lived and how the place would look like were we did, but actually, that place showed nothing about our characters or habitual way of living. Well, somehow it even did. Because nothing did in any way depict something of my and especially not of my father's life, as there actually was nothing inside those walls that really was precious to us.

All I favoured about my life was what I carried inside my heart and all those books I loved and kept in my room could be replaced either way. I didn't really care about personal belongings at all. All I cared about was that I at least could stay for myself somewhere in that damn city of London, even if it just was a nice little spot at Hide Park. The thought somehow stung my nerves and I felt a chill running down my spine.

I showed John to the living room and his gaze instantly fell on that colourful pottery-monstrosity on our mantelpiece.

"I've never seen anything more hideous.", Dr. Watson said and gave me a crooked smile, but I could just shake my head.

"I would just agree with you if it just wasn't my friend's work."

John took one step closer and examined it closely.

"It's quite big isn't it? I couldn't imagine some space being more wasted than with that thing. At last an artist's work always rises in its value when the artist has passed away..."

John instantly turned around as I gasped and he waved about with his arms apologetically.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think about what I was-!" But I just pouted and waved aside. Perhaps it was just his nervousness that let him completely forget his manners, so I didn't really care. My doings actually were at least even worse than that little fauxpas he made. As I already saw earlier with Sally, everyone ran the risk of completely forgetting oneself and choosing the wrong path and additionally, and I mean, just look who's talking.

"Just take a seat, John. I just had a kettle of tea prepared.", I said and made my way to the kitchen.

"Pardon me, I think I would rather prefer a strong cup of coffee, Sharon. Consider how long we have to stay up tonight."

And with that comment, he really managed to fall in my favour. I smiled at him and as I turned away, I huffed a little.

"But tea will do as well!", John quickly called after me. As much as John Watson seemed to be quite the ordinary guy, there was something about him that just gave me the creeps. Perhaps it was his much too ordinary attire, his too modest and reserved behaviour and well, everything that didn't remind me of- I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

He had done it again.

He had taken so much influence on me again, already.

I had sworn to myself to not let it happen again, but who could withstand his character, his dark allurement, his fascinating ability to just addict myself to him and let all the bad sides of myself show themselves.

Indeed, I was afraid of Moriarty. He had shown me more than once that I was just a mere puppet to him, still and perhaps forever, and whenever he had used me for the purposes he needed he could as easily rid himself from me, as it was to snip your fingers, and make me disappear.

But to be completely honest, I didn't care if I just was one of his henchmen. At least, someone recognised me, someone needed me, for whatever reason. I would serve him, to serve my own satisfaction. James Moriarty was what I always had looked for in my boring life and I knew that James was aware of that and especially because of that there was nothing that was untold between us. I would gladly make him use me and let myself be used by him and take the most of it. The most fun I would ever have.

"Sharon?"

"Oh, yes?"

I almost dropped the tray in my hands, but I managed to make my way to where John sat and pour him a cup of my favourite Darjeeling.

"Is everything alright with you? Your hands are trembling.", he said and gave me one of those puppy-dog-eyed smiles that I just could not stand.

"I'm just nervous. Additionally, I am not that used to have someone visit me. Actually, you are the first one really visiting me."

John looked at me quite startled and I saw him fondling with the handle of his cup, as if he was thinking hard about what I just told him.

"But you're a young girl at her best times, aren't you concerned with going out, meeting friends, breaking a countless number of boy's hearts?"

I giggled and poured myself a cup as well, taking a spoonful of sugar.

"I'm not quite the type for that, John."

"At least you would have the looks to make all young boys of London fall head over heels in love with you."

I felt my cheeks blush and hid my face by taking a quick gulp out of my cup. Compliments still were new to me, even if I already received lots of them, but I always refused to take them serious. But perhaps I should start being confident about several things concerning myself. I meant, look at me, I even dared to slap one of the most dangerous criminals and actually be on the side of his enemies. On the side? Of the enemies?

Was I already thinking of me taking a side as well?

But as I said, I would play along with Moriarty's games. Why not joining him as a whole?

Why not playing the bad and naughty girl? For that at least I would have the best mentor.

"Believe me, my father would have scared off every single one of those anyway.", I laughed and took another sip of my tea. John cleared his throat slightly and I gave him a dumb smile. I should have known it. All his flatteries should just be the preparation for him asking me something he definitely should not stick his potato nose in.

"Well, Sharon, might I ask you what actually has ripped your family apart that much? I've always wondered why Sherlock has kept your existence as a secret and no matter how much I ask him about, he would not open up to me."

I huffed and leaned back in my seat.

"There have been lots of discrepancies in the past between my dad and my uncle. It started especially after my mum was killed. They have always disliked each other, but I know that Sherlock accepted my mother. He accepted her because he kept Mycroft away from Sherlock and was the reason why my dad focused on raising a family without being concerned about Sherlock's future. But perhaps that was also something that Sherlock hated about her. I guess Sherlock secretly longed for a companion aw well and finally he has found one in you.", I said and Watson chuckled, crouching his shoulders.

"Have you never been interested in getting to know Sherlock?"

"My family had been a happy one until my mum died and I never really cared about my uncle, as he was simply no part of my life. I never missed him. I've even grown not to miss my dad as much as I probably should do. He rather likes to be at Diogenes' or in his office."

"But why did your father and Sherlock break apart?"

I grabbed my cup even harder and felt my body tense. I honestly didn't really want to talk about it, as I had always pushed that matter away. It has always bothered and worried me too much, because I could not find the right answer to it.

"I just know that it was linked to the murder of my mother. Mycroft once told me that he consulted Sherlock to help him find her murderer, but Sherlock refused to help. That was one of the reasons that they broke apart."

"I hope you aren't telling all of you darkest secrets to your guest, Miss Holmes."

John and I bolted up from our seats as Anthea entered the living room. It was quite disturbing to me as Anthea threw a very intriguing and flirtatious glance at Dr Watson, that even as much unsettled him.

"No way, Miss Anthea. I just want to contribute my part to the Holmes-familiy reunion.", he stuttered and I just raised an eyebrow at that.

"Don't make me laugh.", I said coldly.

"No, I just want to invite you to our little Christmas party we'll have at Baker Street. Molly loves to call it 'Christmas drinkies', but I suppose it is in fact nothing more than a couple of people drinking something, as there's nothing else possible with Sherlock. But I think you should come, Sharon."

"Oh, your father would miss you, Miss Holmes.", Anthea chuckled, but quickly covered her lips with her fingers as if it were act of constraint. But I exactly knew what she was playing at and I would not let her tease me.

"Come on, Anthea, father never really celebrates Christmas with me and even if his body was present at Christmas, his mind was ever more than absent."

"I suppose you should go then. I will make sure to keep your cover."

"Cover?", John threw in, but I just ignored him and took a step closer to Anthea. I was curious why Anthea that suddenly somehow gave me the feeling as if she wanted me to act behind my father's back. Was there something she knew? Was there something she hid from me? Well, someone could never trust a woman like her.

"There's not need to. I will tell my father where I'll go and I'll even let him feel exactly what it means to always have to sit at home on your own, knowing that your family abandons you with full intent."

"Isn't that a little harsh?", Dr. Watson asked, but Anthea just nodded with a guileful smile.

"It's just the right way to misbehave.", Anthea said and turned around to leave us alone, "it's always a pleasure to see you, Dr Watson."

I tried to keep a straight face when she left, but suddenly thoughts were swirling around in my mind. Anthea and I never really liked each other and she loved to tease me for whatever reason from time to time. But her making me leave my father in the lurch at Christmas day?

Well, I guess that strange change towards me had already begun when she promised me not to reveal my newly refreshed relation to Sherlock and his companion.

I was happy that Dr. Watson didn't ask me about that matter any further and we both retreated to the kitchen, switched out the lights and kept guard of the living room.

It was just a bit after three o'clock in the morning, when we heard a rustling noise at one of the windows and saw a dark figure slowly opening it. The burglar silently climbed into the living room, slowly approaching the fireplace, where the piece of art stood. But honestly, which burglar would not be curious about a window not being shut and the important piece of art being handed to him on a silver platter. Who would not smell that rat?

That guy really seemed not to be very bright, or he was really desperate.

As soon as the burglar was busy with the pottery figure, Dr Watson and I sneaked out of the kitchen, in both of our hands father's old cricket bats.

"Turn around right now! There's nowhere to escape!", Dr Watson shouted and the man in front of us winced and let the pottery figure fall to the ground. He cursed loudly but with a very quick movement turned around and attacked us with a jack knife.

For once in my life I was happy that my father had for such a long time determined my way of living. Actually, all those innumerable courses of self-defence paid off. Dr Watson and I easily overcame that man in front of us and John delivered quite the hard blow to the burglar's back of his head, that immediately let him prostrate to the ground.

I switched on the lights again and we both approached the man that was lying there, completely dressed in black clothes, wearing a black hood. I bend down and pulled it off his head. And the man that came to light was one I hadn't really expected being the one I looked for. But somehow deep in my heart I had always known that I really could trust Moriarty's words when he said that he wasn't the one being responsible for Pietro's death.

No, it was entirely another person that seemed to be the cold-blooded murderer of even his own beloved.

"Beppo!"

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	16. Chapter 16

**Hey guys!**

**I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter! Thanks to all those people who chose to favour and follow my story! Please leave a comment as I am curious about what you think of the progress and what you guess for the future chapters! Enjoy reading!**

**Love, Olivia**

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YOU DARE ME

_**DECEMBER**_

"Beppo!"

The man who was pressed to the floor by Doctor Watson just breathed heavily and fidgeted around to free himself, but John quickly pulled out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed Beppo that he just lay there almost immobile and prevented from even moving his head an inch.

I looked at John most irritatedly.

"Where did you get those from?", I asked, but John just shook his head and waved aside, while he got on his feet again, looking down at the creature to his feet with a most disgusted expression.

"Those are out of Sherlock's collection.", but he must have seen my puzzlement in my face from the corner of his eyes and added, " but just please, don't ask!"

But both our attention was immediately guarded to the young man, as John bend down and rolled him over, so that at least we could look him in the eyes.

"What are you doing, Beppo? Or what have already done?", I asked, holding the cricket bat right under his chin, while John frisked him for other weapons like his jack knife that he had used before. But Beppo wasn't that easily giving up, now that his excitement of his surprise of being attacked by us had already died down.

"Let me go free!"

At least John was as persistent as I intended to be and even slapped Beppo right across the face, which temporarily eased his temper.

"Why have you been trying to steal that statue? Have you murdered the young boy?"

Beppo just hollered around and called me things I better not repeat, but very soon I saw a faint glimpse of desperation and even tiredness in his eyes. I exactly knew what that meant. It just showed that he was close to his limits. Being on the run, obviously trying to make all clues that would lead to him disappear, living in the suspense of not knowing how this whole thing would end, knowing that one false step or decision could only lead to his only next one into prison. Beppo was already tired of running away and perhaps that had been the reason why he let himself grow that careless and get caught that easily. But still, before I would call the police, I wanted to hear the whole truth right from himself, I wanted to hear him confess that he was nothing more than the worst vermin of all human beings that could ever exist, one of those who cannot even evermore receive the attribute 'human', who just remained nothing more than a monster, a monster who had just taken an innocent life.

"Tell us, now!", I screamed and punched Beppo hard into his side, but in an instant, he remained still and quite, just looking up into my face, his eyes all red and swollen, full of tears but nevertheless full of hate as well.

"I stabbed him in the pottery room. We had one of our usual quarrels, but finally I plunged up enough courage to do the final blow."

"So you stabbed him with this?", Watson asked and held up a knife, that bore Beppo's initials, which he had just discovered between the shards of the broken pottery figure. "You must have hidden the blade inside one of those just to be sure that the weapon you used disappeared. After you managed the whole thing to look like a break-in, you wanted to retrieve the knife by stealing every statue, every single one."

Beppo just smiled wickedly, closed his eyes and leaned back in defeat. For a short moment I thought he would now close up entirely to us, just remain silent and just bear his upcoming trial, without revealing anything more to us. But he was saying something, which was directed to me. To me, as I guessed he knew exactly how I would understand his words.

"It was all his fault. If he had fulfilled the task I gave him, everything would have been easier. Everything would be already over, if not for months."

"What are you talking about? Do you mean that all your quarrels were triggered off just because Pietro was having that big exhibition at Hickman's? Was it just a mere act of jealousy at the end, that you killed him coldheartedly?", Watson asked and desperately tried to get the despicable one's attention, but Beppo's eyes were still fixed on mine.

I was very lucky that Watson didn't seem to see the hint behind all what Beppo's talking. Beppo seemed to know that I mingled with Moriarty, perhaps he had already known when Moriarty had been visiting Pietro's birthday party, otherwise he wouldn't have told me indirectly that he indeed had consulted Moriarty for asking him to let Pietro disappear. But no offence, I could understand why Moriarty had rejected such a request. Yes, I shouldn't think that freely of a murder, but that case was definitely beneath his dignity and skills.

I grabbed the bat in my hands a bit harder, as I felt how bad my thoughts actually were. But they were just honest thinking. Why in the good old world should Moriarty really have been the one responsible for such a murder? It was just as James had said it even himself. It was even a violation and offence to his character that I would have ever thought that such an act, so badly acted out, should be accredited to his doings. And now I finally knew it for sure.

For God's sake, it did touch me that a friend had died, especially in such a horrible and gruesome way, that even an enjoyable acquaintance of mine, whom I at first have always thought to be a fine man, suddenly turned into a murderous monster.

I felt some beads of sweat running down my temple, still my hand grabbed the bat so hard that my knuckles turned white. I felt the excitement rushing through my veins, my heart beating in my throat, my feet trembling just because my body felt that it had to move, do more, do something to increase the excitement I just got from this situation.

This was how he must always feel. This must be the powerful feeling that captures you when everything just goes exactly the way you wanted, everything perfectly fits and comes to an end that even excels all expectations.

Jim was so very right. I delighted in all this, I loved the temptation of managing mischief, of misbehaving, of being bad and naughty and even evil to the core of my heart.

But why would I have that feeling right now? After all, I would bring Beppo Rovito to justice.

Everything I did could neither be morally nor in wrong nor despicable.

Nevertheless, as I looked down onto that pitiful figure, I felt superior. That feeling mainly found its source in my delight of seeing him being at the end of his wits entirely. Beppo was defeated and I even felt the urge to kick him again, although he was already down.

It wasn't the feeling of power of acting against the law, that I knew I learned to love through the works of Moriarty. It was the delight of seeing someone being utterly destroyed, burned to the ground and yourself being the one who survived, the one who remained because of your supremacy. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. I would savour that moment. Because deep inside me, my old self still was there, the one Sharon, who wasn't that much intrigued by James Moriarty, who still knew what was right and good. And I would never allow myself to have such feelings again.

When Inspector Lestrade finally arrived with his colleagues at Pall Mall, he had a very sour expression on his face. I knew he would have loved to finally have dealt with a case that turned out to be a very simple one and which he could close easier.

"So why is it always you or Sherlock, who is involved in any of those cases, John?", Lestrade asked Dr. Watson, but he was eyeballing me instead. Lestrade must have remembered my keen interest for that case, but at least I could put down that special dedication to my intimate relation with the ones involved. Lestrade huffed. "And you, Miss Holmes, just couldn't cope with the good work of the police, could you? I must have known you would ask Sherlock to help you out."

"Who said, that I consulted Sherlock? Why can't I just have a visitor over the night?", I asked and felt how bold and ambiguous that must have sounded and saw it on John's reddening face as well. But I didn't care.

Beppo was dragged out of the house and he was hardly putting up resistance. But when he walked past me, he just silently whispered to me: "You knew it already, didn't you? You knew the whole thing, even about him. I know you're just pretending to be innocent. But you are one of us and one day you will give credit to what you really are."

I just stepped back to refrain from just hitting him as hard as I could, but I suddenly felt how every limb became heavy and my sight blurred. I covered my face with my hands, let a few sobbing sounds escape my lips. No one would know why I was really crying. Not the least for that murder and what happened that night, but for what Beppo had stated out, what I never really dared to say out loud. And it was nothing compared to Moriarty's teasing me, because this was real.

But could really admit that I found myself readily joining the dark side? That did not the least resemble what was really inside my heart and what was my real intention. Because I would go everywhere where I could just to be near Moriarty. I would bathe my poor soul in all the havoc and mischief he would cause wherever he went, just to rejoice on my deepest desires.

I did not care that it would decay me.

I smiled and sobbed a little and then said my goodbyes to the men, pretending that I urgently needed to rest. I even didn't care about what consequences my little adventure would have regarding my father, just went up the stairs and closed myself into my room.

I just couldn't help it.

But my smirk wasn't fading from my lips and the tremor that captivated my body let me moan silently into my pillows on my bed. It was not that I just enjoyed the darkness.

I really craved for it.

I reached over and grabbed my mobile phone from my bedside table. First, I had in mind to call Sally and tell her the news, but I somehow had the feeling that she would not like me to be the one delivering it to her at the moment. Still, after I had thought about it for quite some time, I could not understand why she had been that harsh to me that morning.

Instead, I just typed a short message, but to an entirely other recipient.

_**Would you refuse me like you did him?**_

I knew that Moriarty waited for me to report him, but I knew I should not bother him with things he already knew, so I preferred to ask him about things related to what had happened instead. Things that burnt on the tip of my tongue, that longed to be asked.

_There are no exceptions. But I trust you would not even dare to consult me with such a boring job like that._

_**Consulting you for the very same reason and intention as Beppo would be impossible anyway.**_

_Don't bother me with the obvious tonight. At the moment your every single line to me is wasted._

Who would have expected another answer like that. An invigorating chill ran down my spine as I read it. Perhaps he was exactly referring to what I inferred. And that let me hope in directions I should not even dare jesting about. But anyway, Jim knew that this by no means had anything to do with a confession of love, because both he and I knew that there was nothing to say about that anyway. Nothing what wasn't already said and nothing that still could be said.

However, how could Moriarty kill himself anyway, just because I asked him to?

_**I need to see you.**_

After that, I had to wait for Jim's answer quite long. I knew I was quite taking a risk in opening up that much to him, especially after all what happened, and I was entering dangerous territory, even a more dangerous one that I've already taken a step into. But somehow I knew that it was exactly what he wanted from me, only that he still possessed enough of his wits and pride to not let it really become a part of what he ever intended to do.

_My gift will suffice for tonight._

_**Gift?**_

_Pocket._

I knitted my brows, but began to search all my pockets from something being inside. Finally, I felt something inside the pocket of my bag and pulled out a photograph. And there was he, smiling up to me, one of his so intense, but sometimes so well faked smirks that could, instead of their pretending warmth and art of seduction, scare one to the bones as well. But for me, it just captivated me.

But why actually would he care to give me a picture of him? Especially one in which he resembled so much his Jimmy character with whom he teased me so much? I would have even never guessed that someone like him would even let someone take a picture of him. I was very much ashamed as well, and didn't really know what to answer him right now. Perhaps I just should be honest and ask him for its purpose, but I feared it would be useless trying.

_**I will certainly not put it under my pillow, be sure of that.**_

_You'll find a decent place for it._

_**You wish.**_

_I know._

I would have loved to throw it right into the waste bin, but I was still too unsecure what he really intended me to do with it. With a huff I put the photo onto my bedside table, as well as the phone, and let the front of the photo face the table, so that this damn face would not stare into my room.

"Well, Miss Holmes, shouldn't you be at University?"

I instantly started from sleep as Anthea's voice whispered directly into my ear.

"What's up with you?", I asked with a groggy voice and tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes.

But Anthea just pulled back the blanket and revealed my body to the cold morning air. "Are you evolving into my personal alarming-clock?"

As I looked up to her, I could not find the usual mocking and exasperated expression on her pretty face, but a very stern frown. Something was entirely wrong and my heart began to bump faster and slowly, I was really waking up. Perhaps it was concerning yesterday's break-in and revelation of Pietro's murder.

As usual, Anthea didn't really answer me, but this silence was very awkward.

"Anthea, what's going on? Is it my father?", I asked and made my way to the bathroom and began to brush my teeth and observed Anthea already rummaging around in my wardrobe and picking out some decent clothes for University.

"Yes.", she said tersely and even grabbed my bag, throwing my books, my purse, some handkerchiefs and other necessary things into it. As I had finished my quick morning toilet and stepped back into my room, I caught her grabbing my phone from my bedside table, but she also was holding Moriarty's picture in her hands.

Her expression changed slightly into something I could not really read on her, I only noticed her tense as soon as she beheld James on that photo. As I got closer, she immediately threw it back onto the table, as if the photograph had burned her fingertips.

She turned around and put my bag into my hands and dragged me towards the staircase.

"What's the matter? What's about father? I won't care if he wants to scold me about my decision consulting Sherlock and John."

But Anthea shook her head.

"Believe me, you would not want to meet him right now. It is not the only thing that actually bothers him, Miss Sharon. I just want you to get to University quickly. The Dean has even called in, he wants to see you immediately, I promised him to get you there as soon as I can. And I want you to avoid meeting your father as long as you can, he is very upset, believe me."

"But why do you care for me that way?", I asked her, and was somehow irritated. I thought she never really cared about me, especially delighted in everything I would screw up totally, just because she was bored to hell of babysitting me.

"I've been told to look after you."

"But my father told you to do so, so why would you help me when he's mad about my decisions?"

Whatever reason Anthea had to cover my back and help me clear things at University first, it was a bit strange, as she was actually working against her employer in helping me. But I didn't really care, as I knew that she trusted in me that I would return her favour when it came to her affection for John Watson.

"Just do as I say and keep you appointment at University, will you? It's important that you show up there as soon as possible."

I huffed. I naturally liked nothing more than being left in the dark about what was going on, but at least I got used to it through the works of Jim.

It was quite late when I dropped by the University and ran towards the entrance portal, my body filled with curiosity about what the Dean would like to speak to me that urgently.

"Miss Holmes?"

I didn't really recognise that voice, so I pretended to not have heard it and moved on, grabbing my bag harder.

"Miss Holmes! Wait!"

Then, a firm hand pulled on my arm and urged me to stop. I turned around and faced a woman, who was completely a stranger to me. She wore a second class skirt and a very strange jacket, her appearance looked as if she just patched her clothes together randomly. In her hand she clutched a dictaphone. My heart immediately sank into my boots. One of those people, whom I would need the least right now.

"Miss Holmes, I am Kitty Riley, and I would-!"

"Not you!", I breathed and stepped a few steps back, but she followed me up. Now I finally had an impression of that lady whom I already knew so well, who already had written so much about Sherlock and James. I once had even thought to contact her, I knew, but now she was the least person on earth I needed. I knew she was one of those particularly nasty journalists, who would dig so very deep to just find out every little curiosity that you tried to keep hidden so well.

"What do you say about the murder at you University? What can you tell me about last night? What are your feelings right now that one of your closest friends has committed such a horrible crime?", she asked and pestered me horribly with her dictaphone and all I could to was stumble back and glare at her.

"You might excuse me, Miss Riley, I have an urgent appointment at University."

"What can you tell me about Mr Holmes' involvement into that case? Why did you consult him on that matter? What is your relationship to him? Is it as bad as your father's to him?"

"I told you that I don't want to speak about it, I have to care about my job at University."

"Is it right that it actually has been put on a risk just by yourself? Do you know Richard Brook? And what is your relation to Professor James Moriarty? Is it true that your love affair is the reason for you both being dismissed from your positions?"

I stopped and couldn't help myself look at her baffled, my eyes growing larger and larger, as her words slowly sank in. What the hell was she talking about? Was that woman aware of things I didn't yet know about? Or was she just being fed with the usual silly gossip?

But the longer I stared at her and the longer she stared holes into mine eyes back, the more did I unsettle myself with realising what was going on around me. Why else should the dean have called me to his side that urgently? Why else should Anthea have been that concerned about me, helping me to prevent meeting my father, so that I could put things right again?

For God's sake, Moriarty must have known what would be going on here! He should have warned me about that! But who knew if that was not another part of his game?

I didn't know what to say any longer.

"Miss Holmes?"

I just closed my eyes and breathed hard, but I just couldn't ease myself. When I opened my eyes again, Miss Riley's dictaphone was as close as almost touching my lips. And I saw that greedy glint in her eyes, that eyeballed me from head to toe, watching my every reaction about her questions.

"Please, leave me alone.", I babbled, but she wasn't letting loose, now that she had me in her clutched, she would squeeze me like she would squeeze an orange dry and I feared every question of her, every question that exactly depicted what was going on deep inside my head and heart.

"Are you in love with James Moriarty?"

* * *

**Anything to guess? Please comment! ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

**_Hey guys!_**

**Happy Easter to all of who you celebrate it! ;) **

**This chapter actually got a little longer than any I have written before, so that's the cause of my little delay... Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! Do you have any suggestions? Would love to read them! And reviews would be especially nice, just because tomorrow's my birthday! ;) **

**I just reckoned for how long I have already been wirting that story, but I guess it's going quite smoothly, don't you think? ;)**

**Please enjoy and comments would be nice! ;)**

* * *

YOU LEAVE ME

_**DEZEMBER**_

"James Moriarty?"

I could only repeat his name, which only slipped over my trembling lips. I felt my body sway back and forth. But I had to remain calm. My relation to James Moriarty, whatever nature it was, had to remain non-existent for every other person than ourselves, a secret, if at best. Otherwise, my sweet days of savouring the taste of the temptation of breeding mischief, being involved into trouble-making, would end. I knew my role had not been really big so far, but I still wanted to play the part Moriarty had in mind for me.

But did I really consent with that part, as it would entirely destroy me? My freedom would be constricted, but perhaps I would forfeit it entirely. Everything I had worked for so far, would be lost. But wasn't that the condition I swore myself to cope with, no matter whatever happened when I would get involved with Moriarty? Wasn't that even the reason why I had abandoned reason and rationality and joined him in the first place?

" Are the rumours true?", Riley asked again and I finally breathed deep.

" The exact contrary of what is generally believed is often the truth.", I said plainly and I saw a wicked and sly glint in her eyes, but at least, Kitty wouldn't be able to built an exact argument on the mere citation that I gave her.

" What are you exactly trying to accomplish, Miss Riley? Trying to invent a shocking cover story that combines the lives two of the most gossiped men in town?", I asked, but that was just a miserable attempt of avoiding further questions.

"No one knows what lies behind the surface of one's howsoever well shaped character, Miss Holmes. It is especially my job to find out who just hides his true personality and dark deeds under the guise of juvenile innocence.", she answered and smiled at me again, letting her dictaphone slip back into her bag, seemed to signalise that I would no longer be interrogated.

"You may let poor Miss Holmes go her way now, Miss Riley. I guess you will already have tortured her enough with your nagging questions.", a voice suddenly drew near to us and it had an unmistakeable sneering tone. Miss Riley's smile just got broader and broader as she beheld the person who apparently approached us right from behind my back, but I didn't move an inch. His sudden grip on my shoulder let me cringe a little, which was definitely the best reaction to it, because if I really were accustomed to his touch, I would not.

As soon as Moriarty's hand touched me, it was as if I felt his every movement of his body, even all those muscles of his facial expression change into an even persistent smirk, that battled with Riley's prying gaze.

"I presume she is still very shocked about the burglary at her home and the outcome of that horrible murder.", James said and even pulled my shoulder back a little, so I would stand right some inches behind his left side.

"I see,", Kitty Riley said, still and unfazed expression on her face, " but believe me, Miss Holmes, just to erase false rumours out of people's heads will not only be achieved by denying them. Some other people's help might do the work."

I felt James nodding beside me and the woman finally turned around on her heels and walked away slowly.

"How do you know of the break-in?", I asked.

"I am always aware of matters that concern you, Miss Holmes.", he said and I heard a soft giggle of Kitty Riley, but she was still going away from us. I instantly blushed at the thought that she might have heard what he had said and would imply god-knows-whatever to his answer.

Somehow my body swayed back and forth again and my shoulders slouched instantly under the weight of Moriarty's left hand on me. I wanted to break away from him, but all my power seemed to be drain from me as soon as he touched me.

"No fear, dear Sharon. I'm not going to lay a finger on you.", he whispered, brushing with his fingers over the foulard I wore to hide all those marks he had left the day before on my neck, "Not for the next couple of weeks at least."

I trembled as I stepped away from him. Still, he unsettled me, although I was so very much aware of what was his supposedly real character.

"What does that mean?", I asked, but Moriarty shook his head, observing Miss Riley, who just left the university grounds. "What's your point, James?"

"Still don't dare to call me Jim?", he chuckled and smiled at me, but I just as well looked down to where Miss Riley had disappeared, just standing beside him and simply ignored his statement, not even blushing this time. But James Moriarty would never allow himself to appear even overpowered in a mere conversation.

"Well I thought I have to start our conversation like ordinary people do. I've always tried to excel my abilities in doing so. I've prepared some nice and lulling lines, before I would drop the necessary, unsettling information in. Don't ordinary people do that?"

"I do not expect that from you, at least."

He breathed deeply and rubbed his hand over his face. At this point, I had totally forgotten my appointment with the Dean.

"Actually there have to be two messages that I must deliver to you. One regarding business matters, the other one personal ones. It is totally left to your choice to which of those you would attribute which feature."

I felt myself even tremble a little more. So things were finally moving on, weren't they?

" A client of mine may approach you the next days. I've told her you would be the best to do the job she consulted me with.", he uttered slowly, "But do not fear, it won't be able to impress me."

I couldn't refrain from pouting and still did not turn to him to look him into his eyes, which would definitely only display mockery. But I would not fall for receiving his strong gaze again, I would not show myself so weak and vulnerable as I did last day in his office.

" Will it be that easy? Even more 'easy' than discovering the murderer of Pietro?", I asked, but I just felt his body shake beside me of his laughter, which he successfully kept low in volume.

"It's easy-peasy."

"Why can't you do it yourself? Feeling too divine?", I asked him with eagerness and agitation rising in my voice and turned around to face him, as he kept silent. Which proved to be a very big mistake. He just stood there, his hands in the pockets of the trousers of his Westwood-suit, facing the sky, a sly smile on his lips.

"Heaven cries." he said simply. I watched his profile, his face, his expression that seemed to be deep in thought, delving into the infiniteness of the sky. But I knew he was with me, more than ever. He was with me because I knew now he would really begin to use me.

I watched him, wordless and numb, somehow rooted to the spot, banned from the sight of him. His features were soft, which could be so hard, so interesting, so intimidating and intriguing at the same time. He fixed his eyes onto a bunch of thunderstorm clouds and then, softly, raindrops began to fall. Right onto his face.

And he closed his eyes with a little crooked smile, as if he gained the biggest pleasure of being touched by them .

I, for myself, just stood there, watching him over and over, which I had never done before that way. But I knew that he did that on purpose. He did not enjoy the rain, nor did he really care about it.

Jim Moriarty was waiting.

He was waiting for me to ask him. To really confront him.

He knew that I pretended to know him, but the longer I knew him the less I really did. He had so many faces, though I always only beheld the same. No one perhaps would ever behold the real James Moriarty, and he knew that I was aware of that. And he knew that I only longed to meet the James Moriarty, who would please me the most, tempt me the most and lead me astray.

That Moriarty would be the one who would make me to the one girl being at the best use for him. Therefore he was just waiting for me to ask him, either leave him, confront him, or at least, do something.

But did the real Jim Moriarty really care what I did? Was I even of so much use for him that I was worth the effort? One thing I knew at least. If he really had no use for me, I would either have never met him in my whole life or would already be six feet under.

Or would I?

Was he perhaps really considering to kill me as soon as I would only be a millstone around his neck? Was he hinging it on the degree of how much I would betray my father just for his sake? On the number of things that were legally permitted and morally despicable I did just on his behalf? Or on the number of raindrops that would directly hit his forehead? Directly hit his cheeks, his nose, his lips-

"Be careful, Sharon, your gaze keeps lingering."

I looked aside and let silence surround us. All my endeavours to muster up the courage I've always had when facing him, faded away. Was it because of a these rumours about him and me? Or at least about Sharon Holmes, the Dean's assistant, and James Moriarty, notorious professor of physics and maths at London University?

I knew he would not care about such rumours, if they were no part of his plans, because they were just too stupid that he should even waste a single thought at them. But what if they began to affect his plans? What if they would prevent him from keeping his face, his way he intended to move on officially?

There was but one thing that could damage his image as Professor Moriarty, which was Dr. Watson's well-frequented blog. But there was also the matter of Beppo's final discovery as being the murderer of Pietro Rovito. Beppo, as he was now in custody, could reveal his whole story that even involved the possible services of James Moriarty, the consulting criminal.

Additionally, some rumours about me being intimately involved with him would not do his professor image really good. That could only mean one thing to do for him now. To retreat and prepare for his final blow, even if it meant even entrusting me with a task concerning his business.

I swallowed hard before I could even raise my voice.

There's one thing I would definitely not be able to stand. It would perhaps be anything I was able to bear, even if it was the loss of my job, my reputation or my face, my honour.

But I would not bear Moriarty disappearing again. Not again.

"Are you going to leave me again?"

I didn't even care how personally I approached him, how very obviously I displaced my feelings to him. But it was just the truth, he had entered my life and had already changed it so much, that with him disappearing right now, he would run the risk of only leaving shattered remains behind.

" I can feel it in my bones. You're planning to take the next step towards Sherlock or towards whomever you will need to destroy or use next. It's the same thing as in March. You are on the verge of having another serious show-down and in its course, you will leave."

" I will come back.", he finally said, his voice low and controlled, too blunt, too sober.

" That's for sure."

But not back to me, not back into my life, but back into _his_ life, Sherlock's alone.

I didn't say that aloud. I couldn't say that I would miss his presence. I could not say that I was even disappointed that he had not had anything to do with the murder of Pietro. I was sad that I had not had a big role in it. I was sad that I was just a mere puppet. I was sad that I wasn't even his client, that I perhaps was nothing to him.

"I will come back.", he repeated again, but now I felt his voice being closer to me, which forced me to look at him, look into those dark orbs.

" What's going to happen now?"

"I will not leave by myself, I will be taken."

"What's that supposed to mean?", I asked fearfully, already thinking of what Miss Riley was mentioning before.

" Fulfil the one task I asked you to and for that time your main job will be done. Go on with your ordinary life. Do whatever you want, but do not wait for me."

I just stood there, my mouth wide open, my astonishment written across my face. Ordering me to do whatever I wanted was definitely not what I expected to hear from him. I could see only one reason for telling me to just live. Because it did not mean that he told me to live my life, it only meant that he let me live, which was, seen from Miss Adler's description back then, a serious privilege with James Moriarty. James Moriarty spared my life, even if perhaps my use for him was over. Moriarty gave me my life and I felt heat rushing through my veins more intensely than ever before in his presence. It was gorgeous.

One could not presume that Moriarty would not be a man who would feel something like compassion or care for anyone. But he would respect people according to their ability of amusing him and he could tolerate people according to the degree of their usefulness to him. If they weren't neither any of those people, he would definitely rid himself of them.

So who of those was me? I wished I was not a single one of those people. It wasn't said that Moriarty would not need me again, but for now, I was safe with what I knew about him, I could be sure that he would never have any reason or inclination to harm me.

I would survive him.

"Life will be boring.", I said.

" Well, I had 35 years of boredom to live out, so you will be fine with a couple of weeks, will you?"

" Incredible that Sherlock seems to be the only one in this world ever being able to distract you.", I mumbled, reckoning that still, destroying Sherlock Holmes was his one and only goal in all his actions. Even if it meant involving the whole Holmes family, if not destroying the whole clan. But I also wanted to test his really posture towards me.

"Well I can hardly always play games with myself, that get's kind of boring after some time.", he said and his smirk brightened even and he clicked his tongue in amusement.

"That's something even I can understand."

I leisurely crossed my arms and responded to his smile. But suddenly he grabbed them and entangled them again, grabbing my hands and reassured that I looked deeply into his dark and fathomless eyes.

" Keep ready, Sharon. I will need your assistance when I come back. And perhaps, you will need mine.", James hissed and I was just dumbstruck at his sudden gravity, but perhaps it was just affected.

" I will never beg you for help.", I muttered slowly.

" You will help yourself by begging me.", he said, raising his voice in a playful tone, which reminded me so much of his changeable character features, of his pleasure and habit of teasing me.

" Begging you for what?"

" Distraction."

I couldn't help snorting with laughter.

Wasn't that something he always pretended to be searching for? Well, after all he had already shown me what it takes to spice up your life and makes you clinging to it like a child would cling to its favourite teddy bear.

How naive I were! No matter how I would feel about him, he would even know it before I would. I mean, this was James Moriarty, perhaps one of the only two people in the world ever being able to read one's mind, gestures and behaviour in the most exact way.

He knew how much I needed him, how less everything meant to me now that he had entered my life.

" So then I'll promise you, I'll consult you for distraction, James.", I said and he nodded, grabbed my left hand with his own a bit harder and slowly bent down, raised my hand to his lips, placing a blown kiss on it.

I trembled as I withdrew my hand and rubbed over the back of it with my thumb.

Moriarty drew himself up again, with an unfazed expression, and smoothed down his suit and let his gaze wander over my figure again, as if he wanted to savour my sight.

" Well, I hope you'll have a nice Christmas celebration within your beloved family circle.", he huffed and I just nodded as to quicken our parting. " Merry Christmas, Sharon."

" And a happy new year.", I said, but he was already turning away from me, walking towards the exit, where Kitty Riley had left before. As I watched him go away, I could not turn away from him and I even imagined him mumbling something like 'Happy new year indeed'.

This time was better. Very much better indeed.

This time he had at least said goodbye.

* * *

I didn't know when I had been running so fast the last time in my life. My heart bumped heavily within my chest and I leaned myself against the doorframe of the Dean's office.

I wasn't prepared to face him right now, to react in that way Moriarty would perhaps have intended for me to and in the way I would like to at least keep my face and honour. But still, I could make the best of it and even if it just was appalling and vexing my father.

Because I longed to do it. He deserved it for being such a bad father. For being not even a father. But I knew my father would do his best then to close me up entirely from all the world, just to protect me from any harm. And that would entirely include James Moriarty.

I knocked silently and opened the door without even waiting for the Dean bidding me to enter. He was sitting behind his table, his expression a bit different to what I had always been used to. There was no trace of disgust, anger or vexation, but there was nothing of his usual cheerfulness, only a blank expression.

" Sir, excuse my tardin-"

" Come sit, Miss Holmes."

I sat down at the chair in front of him and folded my hands in my lap.

" Do you know why I asked you here that urgently?"

" A journalist, Miss Riley, stopped me on my way here, Sir. She asked me a lot of questions about my family, my father, my uncle, the murder at University, my relation to the murderer and-", I hesitated involuntarily, though I had to act as if I was completely ignorant about what would really concern this conversation, " but strangely also about Professor Moriarty."

The Dean breathed deep and leaned back in his seat.

" May I ask what she wanted to know about James Moriarty?"

I breathed deep and smiled a little, pulled back a loose strand of my hair and even giggled, like an innocent, prudish girl would perhaps do if she had to talk about something she would not dare to even think of.

" She wanted to know if I, the Professor and I, were acquainted,", I mumbled, " _closely_ acquainted, in fact. But I know her, she has always written stupid things about people, especially about my family."

" But every rumour tends to contain a grain of truth.", the Dean said slowly.

" I am acquainted with Professor Moriarty. But I only met him a three or four times in my life and remember Sir, you were present at two of them.", I said and he began to frown.

In fact, I even spoke the truth, if I only counted those times that I were officially acquainted with him and those times in which he really was James Moriarty, not Jim whom I met in March.

The Dean breathed deep.

" You know, Miss Holmes, such a matter is neither a good situation for both of us. I may have to ask you unpleasant questions and you may have to give even more unpleasant answers."

I almost bolted from my seat as I heard him speak like that, but I just managed to remain where I was physically, but my voice already was ten octaves higher.

" What are you talking about, Sir? What are those rumours that Kitty Riley was speaking about? What evidence do people have to suspect me of having any kind of improper relation?", I hollered, but quickly pressed my hand against my mouth.

The Dean raised his eyebrows at my sudden outburst, but he just closed his eyes and this time I saw a disappointed expression rush over his face, which gave me a direct punch into my stomach.

"I do not want to ascribe anything to you, Miss Holmes. As soon as the matter came to my ears, I wanted to speak to you personally and sort it out quickly.", the Dean said, "but there have been several clues and hints that revealed some evidence for those rumours."

" What would those be?"

" I would normally not pay any attention to those things, Miss Holmes, believe me. I would not even despise a relation between a student and a professor, if they are from different faculties and therefore not really related in an official way to each other - but there are people who are very concerned that nothing like that, even not the rumours about it, would damage the University's reputation."

"The University's reputation? That's what you all are only concerned about? Has not anyone thought of how it would damage _my_ reputation? A rumour like this could destroy everything I have worked so hard for the last years!", I cried and the Dean nodded slowly.

" As I said, there had been some people coming up with evidence that gave the University's highest members and officials doubts about the degree of your innocence."

"What is that evidence?", I asked again, so very demanding in my tone, that I knew I would make him open up to me, especially because I knew of his attachment and sympathy towards me.

" People say that Professor Moriarty and you know each other even longer than expected. They say that you have already spent a considerable amount of time together, in different situations you have been seen together, being very intimate. More intimate than normal acquaintances of men and women should be.", he said, his face reddening a little, but I was just getting pale. "One of those people has even seen you the last days visiting Professor Moriarty in his office. She said, well, that from your looks someone could have considered of you both having been very intimate that time."

I could not say what I was thinking right then. I could not even say how I felt. I might have been angry, disappointed, excited or even afraid. But I was calm, so calm, that I even didn't recognise myself. Because I had already expected it.

"Sally has told you about that, hasn't she? Sally Barnicot came up to you with this infamous lie!"

Instantly I knew it had been quite a wrong answer to give him, an answer with which I admitted that there was indeed a grain of truth within those rumours. But Moriarty and I were perhaps the only people who would know that the element which would make those rumours being true was missing. But who could really tell that we hadn't really been that intimate as Sally had always expected us?

Sally was my best friend, everyone knew that, apart from our discrepancies we had, but that had only concerned her bad feelings about Pietro's death. But her being my closest friend, would attribute her a certain degree of credibility.

" Miss Barnicot has been very explicit in her narration about you and Moriarty, so very explicit that some could not deny it being true."

" I guess Professor Moriarty and I are the only ones being really able to judge that."

The Dean took another deep breath and suddenly held out a paper to me.

" As I told you, Miss Holmes, whatever truth lies behind all these matters, I am not the one who would feel himself inclined to investigate that matter further or even pay attention to it. But several people do. And as I've heard, even your father does."

I looked up to him and suddenly my voice broke.

" Does he know? Does he know about those rumours?"

" Your father does not know that it involves you, Miss Holmes. I've done my best to keep it a secret from him. We haven't even contacted him about that matter. But he has contacted us. He wanted to have his way with James Moriarty as soon as we would ask him about the matter. Your father wants to take over as soon as the University has finished whatever business we have with him."

I slowly swallowed down and my hands trembled. So I was right. Father had all this time already been watching James Moriarty. I had seen those documents at his table at Diogenes and now it was clear that father would use any opportunity to keep Moriarty in custody and interrogate him about his dark deeds and those which he was still planning to do against my uncle. But it would only be a matter of time before he would find out that the rumours, that opened my father the possibility to finally take Moriarty into custody officially and with purpose, were only there because of me.

" Please try to keep it hidden from my father a little longer, Sir. I want to tell him myself. I want to tell him that he has no reason to be worried about that lie, that he has no reason to be worried about me."

The Dean suddenly looked very sad and nodded.

" That may be a simple thing to do, Miss Holmes, as we haven't told anyone anything about, especially of you being the one that Moriarty should have an improper relation with. But I fear you will not be able to keep it away from him for a very long time.", he said and pointed at the document he had handed me.

I looked down it and quickly read it through.

I moan escaped my trembling lips.

That document would only support the rumours about me and Moriarty being engaged. Because it triggered off worst consequences that there could be.

I was dismissed from my position as the Dean's assistant.

My final thesis was rejected until the matter would be solved.

I had always known that this would happen. It was the moment that my relation to James Moriarty had taken a real effect on my life, because it has destroyed everything I have worked for.

I could not help but feel my eyes dwell up with tears.

I looked up to the Dean's face again, which was now full of sentiment and sympathy.

" I am so sorry, Miss Holmes."

* * *

**So, what do you think will come up for Sharon? Would love to read from you ;)**

**And thanks to all my readers sticking with me! ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey guys!**

**Sorry for the delay, but actually University work is killing me. Still, I am so undecided what regards the next steps in this story, but I have a hell of good ideas I might say. Hope that you'll like this chapter and I hope you are curious about what I am thinking about next.**

**Thanks for sticking with me,**

**peerme**

* * *

YOU FAVOUR ME

_**DECEMBER**_

I staggered down the corridors in the University, my mind swirling of all those emotions I had, of all those thoughts that I had tried to put in order, thoughts about what had actually happened to me.

But that were the smallest issues I had to cope with. The only thing that made me move forward had been my anger. My anger of really having myself destroyed by James Moriarty and not even fighting against it. There was in fact hardly anything I could do.

As I reached the portal, I wasn't even surprised seeing Anthea there, leaning casually against my father's official car, her mobile phone on her ear, speaking in a low tone. But as soon as she saw me, obviously only a picture of misery stepping towards her, she hung up the phone and granted me a cheering smile.

"Don't you even dare to fake that smile.", I grumbled, hastily wiping over my cheeks as Anthea opened the backdoor for me, but I hesitated before getting into the car. "And don't you pretend you didn't even know what was waiting for me at the Dean's."

Anthea reached after my bag, but I just clutched it against my body, escaping her touch, and she retreated, another of those abominable smirks on her face.

"You are safe with me, Miss Holmes. If there's any business you have to pursue right now, I won't stop you. As long as he doesn't summon me, I can keep you away from your father as long as you want."

"I have to find Sally.", I gnarled, my hands already sweaty at the thought of punching Sally right into her cute little face. I would make her pay for triggering off the rumours about Moriarty and me. Because I definitely knew that it was all her own doing, as she was one of those few people not being influenced by Moriarty.

"There's no need to see her, Miss Holmes. That would only turn things to the worst.", Anthea said. Her eyes glistened, but her features were calm and soft.

I should have known. Why else could she have known about my future in University, even if the Dean pretended that no one outside this ancient walls knew of the case? Even Kitty Riley had known of the whole thing, for whatever reason.

Anthea was as much involved into all this mess as I was. I was sure of it. But I would not ask her out about her real position, especially if she really was whom I expected her to be, as long as I could be sure of her loyalty towards me.

"Oh come on, Anthea, it's not like Sally's under some sort of witness protection or - no, really?", I spat at her, hissing and knocking my fist against the car. I should have predicted that too. Sally was under witness protection of course, but not the usual one. Perhaps under one that she didn't even know she were. Moriarty must have his people everywhere. "Are you kidding me?"

I should have always known that Moriarty wanted this to happen, because absolutely nothing was left to chance by James Moriarty. And therefore it was only natural, that Sally was watched by him. And this only made me realise even more that Anthea, standing as she was right before me, was indeed related to Moriarty as well. Why else should she have been acting like she did the last hours, even weeks and months?

"This time you should ask your father about that.", she said and I just jerked back.

"Not _him_?", I asked, but Anthea just raised an eyebrow, typing hastily into her phone and I tried to pretend as if I had not said anything, "So how long can you keep it away from my father?"

"It's only a matter of time.", Anthea mumbled.

"You mean it's a matter of Moriarty's arbitrariness.", I mumbles, eyeballing her. But who would expect a reaction from her. Nevertheless, I wanted to be completely sure that Anthea was working for Moriarty. Otherwise, she could be trying to lie to me and make me opening up to her about the whole Moriarty thing and then running off to my father telling him everything about that. Who knew, perhaps even my father didn't trust me anymore and told Anthea to pretend she was in Moriarty's commission just to gain my trust? I bit my lower lip and felt another surge of anger rush through my veins. At least I had to do something about all that, even if it just was chasing after Sally and spanking her butty for what she had done to me.

"What should I do then?", I asked Anthea and she looked up from her phone again.

"Answer his expectations."

We both got into the car, while I was still wondering about the possible ambiguousness of her answer. Perhaps I really wanted "him" to be Moriarty. With Anthea being one of Moriarty's henchmen would at least somehow grant me that I was still close to him, even if he was away for the time being.

I just sat by Anthea's side and waited. For once in my life I let her take me wherever I needed to be, without even complaining, perhaps even being grateful that she showed me my way.

As soon as we arrived at one of the most expensive bars in the city centre, I knew for sure that Anthea and whomever really stood behind her, had exactly planned what I would do after I got expelled. I wasn't even surprised as the waiter welcomed me and immediately led me into a nice corner of the location. On the expensive cushions of the noble location sat a person whom I had not ever in my life expected to meet again.

This person gave me complete assurance that Anthea was the exact person I believed her to be and someone whom I believed to have been given the task of watching over me. Because right there, dressed in the most scandalous red robe ever to be worn and holding a glass of campaign between those long fingers with despicably blood-red fingernails, sat Irene Adler.

Actually, nothing would ever surprise me again in my life.

"Miss Holmes, I've been waiting for you. Please, take a seat."

I only hesitantly followed her invitation, my mind rattling with all what James Moriarty had been telling me before he left for good. He'd said that one of his clients would approach me with a task. Involuntarily, I caught myself shifting around in my seat in Miss Adler's presence.

I felt uncomfortable and exposed with her even more than I did with Moriarty, almost as similarly as back then at the University party.

Because Moriarty would never resemble and show me what I felt, would not confront me with my behaviour towards him in the way Miss Adler did, as he would rather react to me. As if her every gaze could disclose my every emotion, every desire I carried inside my heart and peel off every piece of clothing or mask behind I could hide myself.

"I didn't expect that it would be you I should meet, Miss Adler.", I said, gladly accepting a glass of Champaign as well. Miss Adler waved aside and chinked glasses with me. I really had to force myself not gulfing the whole glass down at an instant.

"Let's skip the formalities, shall we?", said Miss Adler and set the glass back onto the table, folding her hands in her lap and looking at me from head to food. Another time, I felt a sensational feeling of exposure running down my spine. "I see you've survived him so far."

"I always will.", I said coldly, already letting the waiter pour me another glass of that formidable Champaign. But Irene Adler could only give me a pitiful look.

"You have preserved your innocence as well, which is pitiful and admirable at the same time."

"So what is it you need me to do?", I asked her, slowly growing impatient with her. My nonchalant times of teasing a person like her in a situation I was, were definitely over. Every second I spent wasting would draw me nearer to my ultimate ruin. So I finally could understand what it meant for James Moriarty spending his time with ordinary people.

Irene Adler sighed and handed me a small red box, wrapped up perfectly like a Christmas present with a dark green cord.

"This is a present of mine to your beloved uncle. I trust you will deliver it safely to its addressee.", Irene said and gave me an enchanting smile, while I cautiously and curiously ogle-eyed the small gift.

"What is it?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Why would you give Sherlock a present?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Wh-?"

"Has James never taught you how to do business like this?", Irene asked and gave me an intriguing smile, but I just huffed. "Place it somewhere nice in his apartment, perhaps on the mantelpiece and that will be everything I need you to do for me."

I took the small package and weighed it inside my hands.

"How would you know that I would enter 221 B Baker Street the next days?"

"Some nice little bird twittered me that you are invited to celebrate Christmas there. That might be the best opportunity to fulfil your task."

I leaned back in my seat and put the box onto the table. The only two people ever knowing I was invited for Christmas were John and Anthea. One guess for the person who had actually told Miss Adler about my Christmas plans. One guess for what that meant.

"Why would James say I would run errands for you? Why would I do that?", I asked somehow unnerved. Why would Moriarty let me do such a lousy job? Wouldn't he think that I had other things on mind now? Or did he really think I was good for nothing more than that?

"I trust James Moriarty and that means you can be trusted too. Besides, you might not want to scorn your reward.", Irene Adler said and leaned closer.

"Reward?", I huffed and merely raised an eyebrow. But inside, I was already burning with curiosity.

"Moriarty didn't tell me how to pay you, but I guess I can come up with something you'll really like."

"What I like?"

"I could read your every wish from your eyes, from your body.", Irene whispered, leaning even closer, "I can read the biggest of them all."

"You can't.", I gnarled, mixed feelings rising in my chest, anger, agitation, suspiciousness.

"I am the only one of us who knows exactly what she's talking about.", said Miss Adler, leaning back again, releasing me from my tension. But I believed her, instantly. Irene Adler knew what people liked. Irene Adler knew how to use that ability to her best conditions. "And I can tell you from my own experience that generally, it is not impossible to achieve what you want."

I looked down into my lap, my face growing hot. As she had looked me in the eye, I knew she had seen what I had never dared to think of, but her telling me that it was not impossible, was definitely too much for me. But then, as I looked up and saw her eyebrows raised, her lips parted, revealing a smile.

Then, I almost dropped my glass. Some revelation came over me, something that I couldn't bear. Did her answer really mean that she knew what she was speaking about? Did it really mean that she knew what it was like to-?

But - no. Would Moriarty succumb to such trivial passions? Would he ever even consult the services of a woman like Irene Adler?

"So you're speaking from your own experience?", I asked her in a low voice, hardly daring to look her in the face again and see her making me her inferior even more. But she just leaned back, crossing her legs and smoothing down her dress on her perfect thighs, looking down at them as if a memory had just crossed her mind. I slowly swallowed down as I felt a sudden urge to vomit. Definitely this day was wearing me out. Adler let out a deep sigh and looked at me again.

"You may want to get acquainted with someone named Richard Brook."

"Who is he?"

"He's someone very close to James Moriarty, Miss Holmes. So close, that even I must say that they resemble each other so well, that I cannot tell them apart sometimes."

I frowned at that and tried to search through my memories about any information about some Richard Brook. Surely, that name somehow rang a bell in my head, but even more strange was the way she told me to find that person.

"But what should I do with him? What business should I have with him?"

"He's a storyteller, who usually keeps a civil tongue in his head. He loves to tell stories about people, the more lively and realistic, the better and he knows a lot of them. I guess he will be very much interested in yours as well."

I was stunned somehow. Why would she make Moriarty being related to anyone like that?

"So you know this Richard Brook quite well, don't you?"

"I know what he likes."

"Isn't that just a mere line to you?", I asked her and this time couldn't refrain from a smirking at her.

"Believe me, you know what he likes too. You love the same stories as he does. Good stories with a good old fashioned villain."

I looked at that gift she handed to me again. Well Moriarty was a villain of a sort, but was he really a good old fashioned one? Then the crazy laughter would definitely miss so far. No, he was far superior than any other villain one could even picture.

"And every story needs a good ending.", I mumbled and Irene chuckled.

"You can decide whether you'll be on the winning side or the other."

"So you think he'll win?"

Irene Adler smiled at me again and stood up from her seat, tacking the little gift and thrust it into my hands, closing them around it so I would grip it firmly.

"He is James Moriarty..."

I nodded briefly and for a short moment she grinned mischievously, let the fingernail of her index finger run along my chin fingertips. Then, she left. But I knew she was right. Moriarty would not lose, even if he pretended to be losing, I felt it in my bones that he would not fail.

* * *

After a night thinking about what had happened, Irene Adlers package under my pillow, James Moriarty's picture under my mattress, my mind was just blank of emotions. I refused to confront Anthea with all the stuff and ask her about how I should move forward. I just figured that it would be best pretending that nothing changed as long as I could and do whatever I thought was right to maintain my face in front of everyone. Not that there were so many people I was really acquainted with, but my main concern was my father.

I knew I shouldn't make him suspicious, especially with me staying at Sherlock's for Christmas. Not that my father and I had ever celebrated Christmas after my mother's death, but at least we had always taken dinner. For this time, he just had to stay alone, while I would go for Christmas drinkies to 221b Baker Street. Nevertheless, I felt that Anthea had been standing behind me, especially when I had decided to leave the house, feeling that my father was watching me from his windows when I went to the car, already waiting for me.

Since I knew that Anthea was a double-agent or at least even a twice commissioned to be - watchdog over me, I felt more uncomfortable, but somehow relieved in her presence. She knew exactly what had been going on those past months and it was some sort of redemption that I was not the only one knowing about it. But I could never know for whom she would be doing what and I wasn't really for myself any longer.

Because she had seen me when I had been crying over the loss of Jim in March, how shocked and happy at the same time I had been when I met him again in September and how willingly I had been throwing myself onto his side now. That only meant that he knew even more precisely how important he was to me and how much he had already invaded my life.

"Lovely Sherlock, that was lovely."

I just blinked twice as I reckoned Sherlock having finally finished his piece, while I was leaning against the mantelpiece, having only seconds before put the little package there, while Sherlock had been playing his violin and looking out of the window. But I didn't really listen, as I always looked at the gift from Miss Adler I had placed onto the mantelpiece. Still, I was very curious what the hell she should send Sherlock.

Actually I didn't care if anyone else noticed me putting a little package right next to those Christmas cards there. I even wondered why Sherlock let them being there, because I guessed that every single one only belonged to John. I mean, even not Watson himself would write Sherlock a Christmas card.

John handed me a glass of wine, as Mrs Hudson still complimented Sherlock for his playing, wishing that he could have worn some stupid antlers. Sherlock was, nevertheless of being of an extraordinary good mood, quite annoyed by the Christmas party. I was even surprised that he had even called me by my name, but perhaps his attitude towards had changed since I dared to consult him with a case. The case had in his eyes been very lumpy, but I thought he somehow had accepted that I was a part of his family which he now no longer should ignore.

No matter what concerned Sherlock, the party was still a nice event. John was very kind, as was his new girlfriend Jeanette, Lestrade bore a little grudge with me I guessed, but that only regarded how I had acted in Beppo's case. Mrs Hudson was cheerful and happy, I think she was the only one who really knew that this Christmas party was not as bad as it seemed to be. Actually, I think all participants could have been quite happy that they could party at all and weren't alone that night.

Then the last guest arrived, Molly Hooper. She looked so very different than the last time I had met her at the morgue. This time I wasn't that reminded of death, as she didn't wear her white coat and her ponytail, but a nice black dress. But still she had that annoyingly shy aura around her. Sherlock's mood immediately cooled down at her sight, but I watched him fidgeting around in joy. I guess he was on pins and needles, as it was itching him to harass everyone in the room and scoffing at Christmas.

As I guessed, Sherlock couldn't restrain himself for a very long time and began to mock poor Miss Hooper about her trying to make jokes and poor Lestrade about his wife still cheating on him.

"Oh, all men are sometimes so very rude.", said Mrs Hudson as Sherlock had completed one of his harassing rants and I just smiled at Molly Hooper. Something about her rang a bell inside my head, but I still couldn't figure that out.

"All men are the same. In the end, they are leaving you.", I mumbled, still eyeballing Miss Hooper, who nervously nipped on her wineglass, accommodating me with a shy smile.

"Some men are even more than the same, especially you should know, Sharon.", Sherlock burst out suddenly and I looked at him, a bolt of heat rushing through my chest. Did he know? Was he already sure about what concerned me and Moriarty?

"What does that mean?", I asked, but Sherlock already tampered with Watson's blog and was no longer listening to me

"So we have something in common, then.", Molly suddenly whispered and turned around to me, "Not very long ago a nice young man left me without saying a word, without leaving a message, he was gone overnight and I've never seen him again. Jim has left nothing behind."

"Jim?", I asked her, so very perplex that Lestrade, Jeanette and Mrs Hudson were irritated by my sudden astonishment. But I coughed slightly and just emptied my glass. There was nothing to lose now, at least I thought I couldn't expect any danger from Molly. "I've known someone named Jim as well, but I was lucky enough to see him again."

"Be grateful for that, Miss Holmes. I would have given him anything that he would have stayed in my life, he was just so kind and so nice. He even liked Toby.", Molly said sadly and I just nodded at her.

"Your son?"

"My cat."

This time it hit me like a direct punch in the face. I knew why I had known her name, even if it was just Molly. Really, how many people actually bear that name and how many people might Moriarty have been meeting up with who bore it?

Moriarty had told me at Pietro's party that he had been with a woman named Molly and according to all what he told me, Miss Hooper fitted exactly into that description. So he had used her as well to get a hold of Sherlock. But he hadn't come back to her at all. But he had come back to me.

My core swell with joy and agitation, which I couldn't really hide. I knew I was a mere puppet to Moriarty, but now I knew I was at least one of the valuable ones, even worthy to be used several times.

Man, I was having a screw loose and it was all his fault.

"He's always been so gentle, even when he touched me. Almost as if he even didn't dare to touch me at all."

"Don't mind me Molly, perhaps he didn't even want to touch you.", Sherlock burst in again and was totally in his mood of harassment once more.

But I still was deeply in thought. Moriarty had been close to Molly Hooper. Had he then, as it seemed to what Miss Adler had suggested, also been with Miss Adler?

Was this one of those distinguishing features between Moriarty and Sherlock? That Moriarty at least took advantage to the fullest from all people he used for his plans, the fullest what regarded all physical terms?

I knew such a thought was generally wasted at a moment like this, especially in my situation and especially regarding Moriarty. But still, my main concern was to find out what Moriarty really saw in me, to what extent he would use me, so I could be prepared and even intervene if I had the power to do it. Because I would not only accept him using me. As far as I could get, I would take advantage of him too. Even if it just meant having fun and getting myself deeper into the mess that I was already in.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

As the room was suddenly silent, I looked back at Sherlock and Molly, as he just gave her a peck on the cheek and I huffed a little. No chance that my uncle actually could have been sorry for what he had said to her and about her appearance.

Then, suddenly a loud female moan echoed through the living room and I saw Sherlock having received a text. As I saw him looking to the mantelpiece, going there and grabbing the gift, disappearing into his room, I definitely knew who had texted him.

That meant my job was done for the night. Very pleased to have been in service.

* * *

**So, that's it for the moment. I hope you liked the way I twisted the original story. **

**So what are your guesses for the future story? Would love to read them, perhaps they'll help me to figure out the storylines I'm not already sure about.**

**Please review and help to sort out my writer's block ;)**


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